Letters To My Dead Mother: my 11th birthday

October 10th, 1984


Today I turned eleven years old. It was so weird not celebrating with you. That smile you get when we open presents that you picked out to really surprise us. The big house parties. The games. We just went to the local restaurant that we used to go a lot with the aunts, uncles, grandparents and a few cousins. Grandma made my favorite-carrot cake. It was so hard to pretend for everyone that I was happy. Who cares about a birthday anymore? I did get some money and clothes.

When will we ever see each other again? I hope soon. I wish you could tell me stuff. Well I guess I should turn off the flashlight (I am trying to not disturb Katie). No one knows that I write these to you. I hide them in a box of my baby clothes.

                  Hope you got a piece of my birthday cake.


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