Open Letter to Mom

7-12-25

Dear Mom,

I know you’re struggling right now. I got an email message from Summer last night. She told me the staff at your nursing home said you weren’t doing too good.

Though you’re ninety-two years old, I still remember you when I got locked up in 1968. I thank you so much for the memories you’ve given me. They will always be a part of my life. We have good and bad memories. Memories can define us positively, or negatively. You’ve always been an inspiration to me, even if I kept it inside.

You have been through so much, so whenever I feel self pity I’m ashamed of myself. Mom, I don’t consider the memories of our life bad. Maybe some are sad, but they got me in tune with how strong you are.

I can remember like it were yesterday when you had that big purse and you had to steal some items from the store so we could eat. I remember all the times you went to the church for help. The long hours of you working as a waitress for tips. Dad was in prison so our babysitter was Blackie, our big black lab who wouldn’t ever let anyone harm us.

I still hear your cries from dad’s beatings. I was so scared of violence because of that. I would run and hide in the closet, yet I still loved dad. Please don’t think I was a sell out, Mom. I loved (and still do) you both. I know what he did was wrong, and it still hurts me today.

Little did you know, Mom, when I got incarcerated, I went through a lot of mental trauma. The solitary cells, the beatings at the hands of officials. Some were deserved, some not. I just want you to know, I pulled through because of what I had seen you go through. I get so much strength from you, Mom. I will never be able to thank you enough.

Mom, I know you have done this time right along with me. It’s hurt you more than it’s hurt me in more ways than one can imagine. We have had so many lopsided conversations about this. You’ve always blamed yourself for the situation I created for myself. You had nothing to do with this, Mom. These prisons are jungles. They create certain ways of life, and some of us get bit by it. I was one that got bit. I got addicted to prison violence and poor choices. I take full responsibilities for those actions. This was not your doing, Mom.

Mom, I’ve always prayed that someday I could walk out of the prison gate as a free man and finally give my mom a great big hug, and tell you how much I love you. I’ve dug myself so deep, Mom, I might not be able to do that. So let me tell you what you’ve been telling me my whole life. Don’t give up! God bless you, Mom.

I love you, Mom.

Robert Clark