My Constance

August 13, 2016

Dear Constance,

Hello, my love. Where do I even start? First off, I have decided to start this journal so that I can have a record of the next however many weeks, months, years it takes for me to get back to you. And in the case I can’t make it back, I want to leave you this. When my mother died, I hurt for years—hell, I still hurt. The most devastating thing was not her death, but her spiritual absence. Over time, I lost touch of her thoughts, her wants, her essence. And while I have no intention of dying, I’d be a fool to pretend that my death isn’t a very real possibility. Hopefully, one day I will be reading these entries with you, reflecting on the dark days of the past that we overcame, and basking in the present we both fought for.

But if that is not the case, there are a few things I want you to know. For starters, I love you, Constance Elyse Mason. Please know that. I have been trying so very hard to get better so that I can be a good parent to you. There is nothing that pains me more than not being able to provide you with the life you deserve and watch you blossom. I hate that I don’t know my own daughter. I am so grateful that your Dad is picking up my slack and then some. And I am so grateful that you are you. Please know that my actions are not a reflection of you or your Dad. I have been sick for a very long time. Before I even started using, my mind was in constant disarray. I hope you never know what it is to feel unwelcome in your own mind. That is what every single day was like for me. I had been on medication after medication, but nothing provided prolonged relief. One day, some guy I didn’t know from Adam offered me Xanax and I thought, “Fuck it.” I wasn’t much younger than you are now—maybe fourteen or fifteen. And the moment it kicked in, I felt a calm so powerful I thought I was about to die. Taking that pill was the biggest mistake of my life. I won’t go on an anti-drug tangent because I know you have heard many before, and I think that I am enough of a cautionary tale. But don’t do drugs. Anyway, when I started using, my spirit split into two. There was the normal Kamilah who wanted so much for herself, and then there was the rabid Kamilah who needed to feel that calm again.

The two parts of me wrestled for a long time, but when I found out that I was pregnant with you, I finally rabid Kamilah to the curb. I was fully prepared to give you everything that I had because I owed it to you. My daughter. My Constance. And, more importantly, because I wanted to. I thought—in retrospect, rather foolishly—that my mental health issues would disappear when I had you, and that I would be the consummate mother. And for a while, I was. When I first held you, all was right with the world. But then the cravings kicked back in. I fought it for a long time, but I lost. And I am so sorry for all the things I have done to hurt you, but even more so for all the things that I have neglected to do.

Now that I have regained some strength, I fully intend to kick rabid Kamilah’s ass. You are the most important thing in my life. Not even death can keep me from trying to reach you. Be good, Connie.

All my love,

Mom

* * *

August 15, 2016

Dear Constance,

Hello, sweetheart. I talked to your father yesterday. You are doing so amazing. Who woulda thunk that someone so darling and smart could come from me? I am so proud of you for making the Principal’s Honor Roll. I hope you are not overworking yourself. I wish that I could speak with you, but I understand that you aren’t ready yet. Whenever you are, I will be humbled to receive you. Your dad tells me you are still writing. I am so glad. Never stop. I left you a voicemail. My gorgeous girl. My Constance.

I have decided to check myself into rehab today. I should have done it long ago, but better late than never. The place I am going is some tiny private practice downtown that seems to be more mushy than I’d prefer. But they take my insurance, so who am I to complain? The main thing is getting clean. After that, I may take some liberties, but not a moment before. This time, things will be different because I will be different. I am going to fight for us. What’s the saying? “Seventh time’s the charm”? Something like that. I don’t like the idea of spending three months in a facility, but the time will pass anyway. And if this means I could get back to you, then there is no question about it. Be good. I love you, Connie.

All my love,

Mom

* * *

September 17, 2016

Dear Constance,

Hello, my love. I haven’t written here in a bit. I have been writing letters—a lot to you, a lot to your father, and some to old friends and acquaintances—as part of step eight. Yes, the good old twelve step program is still around and kicking. I actually think it has helped. My first week here was brutal. Pardon my French, but withdrawal’s a bitch. After that passed, I started back on psych meds. I feel pretty alright, stable. I have been doing all of the things—individual therapy, group therapy. Your dad wrote me back. How I love him. He sent a picture of you from your yearbook. You have grown into the most beautiful young lady, both internally and externally. When you were really tiny, I used to joke about how mad I was that you are the spitting image of your father when I was the one who carried you for nine months. But now I look at you and I see the two people that I love most. You are love, Constance.

I have encountered some colorful personalities here. It’s crazy how even the strongest willed folks can fall victim to this disease with a snap of a finger. I will say though, it is nice to be around people whose only commonality is their will to live. Everyone here has a reason to get clean. You and your dad are my reason, Connie. Whenever I feel down, I look at a picture of you and I remember what I am here for.

I left another voicemail. I hope I am not overwhelming you. There is no manual on how to parent, let alone how to initiate contact with a child you have failed repeatedly. All I know to do is apologize and be better. I am sorry, Connie. I wish I could hear your voice. I love you.

Be good,

Mom

* * *

October 2, 2016

Dear Constance,

Hello, my love. I miss you so much. I have sent a couple more letters to you. I wish I knew what you were thinking. I’d even be grateful to get an “I hate you!” I want you to take your time. Just like I have written to you, you don’t owe me shit. But damn, the radio silence is painful. I have talked to your dad a couple of times over the past few weeks. Mostly about you. He tells me you’re still doing well. My Constance. Mike hasn’t said so explicitly, but I think he is done with me. I have drained him. I can hear it in his voice. Of course, I can’t be mad. I made my bed. But it is not a good feeling to realize that you have alienated everyone you love. I want you to live a happy and healthy life, even if I can’t be a part of that. But selfishly, I wish that I could.

A lot of counselors here are telling me to get out of town, out of the state. Something

about eliminating temptations. Logically, I know a fresh start would probably be beneficial, but I don’t want to be away from you. Not that I have been doing much in the mother department lately—I can admit that. But I will never give up. I owe you and your father everything. If there is any chance that I get back to you all or be of service to you all, then I am staying right here. Also, the prospect of starting over at thirty-five is not very appealing. I think I will get a new phone though. Rid myself of all of the questionable contacts. But I am getting ahead of myself. I still have a month and some change to go.

I love you, Connie. Be good.

All my love,

Mom

* * *

October 11, 2016

Dear Constance,

Happy Birthday, my love! My sweet Libra baby. One of the ladies here is really into astrology. I was talking about you the other day, as I do, and mentioned your birthday was coming up. Clara, the astrology buff, gave me your entire birth chart. I have no idea what the hell most of it means, but I sent it to you in your birthday letter in case you’re interested. It looked interesting.

I just can’t believe that my baby is seventeen. It is crazy how time has flown by. Just seventeen years ago, I held you in my arms for the first time. Just seventeen years ago, I peered into your big beautiful brown eyes and knew that I had the most perfect baby in the world. Just seventeen years ago, you changed my life. I am so excited for you.

I won’t bore you with the happenings of rehab. I am getting out in a month. For the first time in a long time, I am looking forward to life.

I love you, Connie. I hope you have the best birthday. Be good.

All my love,

Mom

* * *

October 16, 2016

Dear Constance,

Hello, my love. I hope you are doing well. I must say, I didn’t realize how much I missed being a regular person. When I was in the throes of addiction, nothing hit me. I was numb. I wanted to be with you and your dad, but that was it. Except for my cravings. Now that I am clean (and medicated), I feel vital again. I don’t remember the last time I have felt like this. I am playing piano again. I am not as good as I used to be, but maybe I will get there. I don’t know if you remember, but when you were around three, you used to sit on my lap while I played. You’d put your tiny hands over mine and we’d play together. Your favorite piece was Un Sospiro. You could never pronounce it correctly, though. You’d sit on my lap and tug at my sleeves and exclaim, “Soo-peer! Soo-Peer! Do Soo-peer, pwease!” It was the cutest thing ever. I don’t know if you still like music. I hope you do.

I celebrated 60 days clean a couple of days ago! It has been years since I have been clean this long. I have lost so much of my life to those stupid pills. I have deprived you of so much. I am so sorry. I so want to be with you. I wish I knew what you were thinking. I pray that you are well.

I get out of here on the fourteenth of next month. I am scared. The structure here is what has kept me clean. I have a support system, a safety net. But when I get outside, all of that will be left to me. I will probably move to a halfway house until I get back on my feet, but still. I don’t know if I can handle it. But I have to. Anyway, I am tired of this place. The structure is helpful, but hell if it ain’t boring. Every weeks looks the same. Therapy, group therapy, shrink meetings. I mean, I don’t think anyone has that many feelings to flesh out. I might just be cynical. I’m sure it’s helping.

I have sent more letters. I have been trying to call your Dad less. I can hear that he is tired. I don’t want to disrupt you all’s routine. It is a curious position to be in. A mom unable to mother. I care so much, but I recognize that the best I can do is wait patiently.

I love you, Connie. I hope you have a good Halloween (if that is still a thing that you do). Be good.

All my love,

Mom

* * *

November 4, 2016

Dear Constance,

Hello, my love. I miss you so much. I have sent a couple more letters recently. I spoke to your Dad last week. He told me you do read my letters. That made my entire month. I hope you are doing well. I can tell Mike doesn’t report everything to me, which is good. You need to be able to trust him. I just wish I knew more.

I leave in here in eleven days. I feel pretty stable right now. The halfway house I am going to seems okay. I spoke with the house manager, Ms. Ximena, the other day. She gave me and some other folks a pamphlet. It’s not the Four Seasons, but Ms. Ximena seems nice. It is about a 20 minute drive from you. I will probably start working again. Maybe my old salon will take me back. I got set up with some financial assistance program, but that’s temporary, of course. Hopefully, my old salon manager isn’t too mad that I ghosted her. It’s been three years, so maybe she forgot? Wishful thinking. Anyway, I found a couple of shrinks that I like. I am definitely going to stick with Narcotics Anonymous, too. Though I don’t particularly like proclaiming “I’m an addict” each week, I need a support system.

I love and miss you, Connie. God willing, I will be able to tell you that in-person, if you let me. Be good.

All my love,

Mom

* * *

November 15, 2016

Dear Constance,

Why hello, my darling Constance! I moved into the halfway house yesterday. My room looks like a mental patient’s, just without the padded walls. But I am happy nonetheless. I brought the stuff I came into rehab with, and the letters and pictures that Mike sent. I pasted a picture of us on my mirror from your thirteenth birthday party. You were in your Y2K phase and insisted on wearing those tiger striped clip-ins. You look so happy there. I want to see that smile again.

I met with my shrink yesterday afternoon. He is a nice old man named Dr. Winter. He wants to put me on an antidepressant. I hate antidepressants, but he says that my mood stabilizer doesn’t seem to be doing enough. Whatever it takes to get better, I guess. I won’t bore you with any more details.

I love you. Be good.

All my love,

Mom

* * *

December 30, 2016

Dear Constance,

I am so sorry. I fucked up. Badly. I am sorry. I love you. You mean the world to me. I won’t let this stop me. I will still try to get better. I will still fight for you. I just haven’t been able to hack it yet. I will, though. I haven’t given you many reasons to have faith in me, but please do. I will do everything I can to make it up to you.

I love you. Be good.

All my love,

Mom

* * *

Kamilah Celeste Myers (née Stewart), 35, passed away on January 1, 2017. The youngest of two, Kamilah was born on January 3, 1981 to Clarence and Gwendolyn Stewart.

An ambitious young woman, Kamilah graduated from a public magnet high school in 1999 with her license in cosmetology. She was voted “Most Likely to Succeed” in her senior year, already having a reputation for greatness. The same year of her graduation, she was blessed with her only daughter, Constance Elyse. She later married her high school sweetheart, Michael Mason.

Kamilah worked as a hairstylist for over a decade, and was passionate about making people feel better. Kamilah was extremely friendly and never met a stranger.

Kamilah’s greatest joy in life was tending to her family. She dedicated her adult life to making the lives of others better.

Kamilah is preceded in death by her father, mother, and sister, Victoria Wright.

She is survived by her daughter Constance Elyse, and husband Michael.

* * *

January 1, 2019

Dear Mom,

Thank you. For this journal and everything else. I was never mad at you, not really. I was mad at the fact that you couldn’t be with me. I always saw you. I always rooted for you. I just couldn’t get myself to do it up close.

I’m sorry that I didn’t call. I’m sorry that I didn’t write. I’m sorry that I stayed away.

I knew then just as I know now that you loved me, that you wanted to be here for me. You never needed to ask for my forgiveness, for there was nothing for me to forgive. I love you, Mom.

I’m in college now! I’m majoring in Piano Performance. I played Liszt for my audition a couple of years ago. I think you’d be proud.

Dad’s doing well, too. He visits you often. He is still living life. He is a worrier, though. Always texting me, making sure I am okay.

I love you and miss you, Mom. Be good.

All my love,

Your Constance