Post by Nathan Morrison on Sept 7, 2006 16:37:41 GMT -5
This article was originally published at:
www.VictorLopez.PowersAndMorrison.com
TO MISS L, WITH LOVE
by Victor E. Lopez
A few days ago I received a letter from Virginia Beach. It was from a correspondent of mine. We'll call her Miss Virginia Beach. The letter just broke my heart. I'm going to excerpt it below and have done some modification of the names as not to violate anyone's privacy. Miss Virginia Beach wrote me:
Victor,
I apologize for not writing back until now. I've had a lot going on. My oldest daughter, Lisa, who is 35 years old this year and the mother of two young girls, is trying to end up like you, in prison. She has a drug and alcohol problem and has been teetering on the brink of death or jail for about six months now. She lives in Indiana and I'm in Virginia. Not that I could do anything about it if she were here, because she was here and I couldn't help her ... no matter how hard I tried. She went into a treatment center today, after being arrested for drunk and disorderly and resisting arrest (could be more charges, but that's what I have been told). The police felt sorry for her and took her to a hospital where she was in ICU for three days. She has been taking prescription Zanax and drinking alcohol in large quantities. That combination alone can be deadly. Then you have the effects of the withdrawal, which can also kill you. The only two drugs that cause seizure and possible death from withdrawal are alcohol and Zanax. Figures she would take both! So that's why she was in ICU for three days. The police know her mother-in-law and told her that they'd drop the charges if she stays in rehab.
I am writing you right now because I read your papers on Powers & Morrison and I am sending one of them to my daughter Lisa. The one titled "In Exile." I hope perhaps YOUR words can get through to her. She's been through this drug rehab stuff before and has always worked the staff better than the program... if you know what I mean. She's a master manipulator and can convince most people of anything she wants. I say most people because she can't fool me, or her Dad. We've got her number. The difference with her this time is she has two children now. The other times she landed in treatment she was single and had no kids. She was only hurting herself. Now she is torturing my poor granddaughters with her outrageous behavior and I'm so relieved that at least she is hospitalized today. How long she'll stay, nobody can say.
Victor, you're a very good writer. Just in case no one ever tells you that, you are! I'm very impressed with you as I knew I would be listening to Malloy describe you. My heart breaks for you. Like they say, all the wrong people are in jail and all the wrong people are out! How true, and how incredibly sad that is.
(She goes on but I'll end it here.)
What broke my heart the most were the kids and Miss Virginia Beach's realization of her daughter's condition and antics in one breath and the hope in the other breath.
I was compelled, after putting down that letter, to write a piece which would be a bit more direct. I am well aware that a letter can't be so spellbinding as to break through, but I can only hope it helps. What follows will not be a literary work of art - this comes straight from my heart onto this paper and will eventually be put at a place where others can read it. So what follows may not be catchy. I just hope its intended purpose is served.
Dear Miss L,
Greetings! I hope, as you are reading this letter, that you are at a point where you'll understand the words which are before you. If you are not, that is fine. Just do me one favor, fold this up and read it when you're ready. This letter can be read on the way up or on the way down. It's really just important that you read. Read between the lines, read the lines, just read. There are two little girls whom you held in your body and whom I know you love that are depending on you to read this and succeed. Succeeding doesn't always mean perfect success, it means doing your d**ndest and hoping for the best. That's what I'm going to do now and I hope it is received well.
I don't know a thing about you and likewise you don't know a thing about me: a great place to start. (Ask your mother to print up the story on my existence so you'll know a bit more about me.)
I'd like to establish a couple of facts before I proceed. You are older than I, thus I am not condescending as I write; I'm speaking up to you. You've got children and I don't. You've got a mother and father who are very much alive and care. I've lost mine a couple of times. You're in a mental prison and I'm in a physical prison. You're killing yourself slowly and I'm fighting to save my life. Yet here's something we have in common: we're both human, both flawed, both redeemable and I've lived in Indiana!
I feel that I should introduce myself to the degree that you could better understand where I'm coming from and why I give a d**n. I'm a product of 40 foster homes, three group homes and was adopted, loved, then the same people who'd adopted me, loved me, were killed in a car accident. In the same month my Grandma passed away due to complications from cancer. She was a d**n fine woman! I spoke to her on the phone before she passed. I'd told her it was Fall and all the leaves had changed in Illinois. She was in Tennessee. We shared that as a favorite season. I teared up as I told her I'd be to see her at Christmas and she told me, "Victor, sweetie, Grandma might not make it to Christmas." I remember quite clearly the frustration I had, trying to find the place I'd put my heavy coat. I'd never been to my grandparents' home in the wintertime. I spent my entire summers with them. The only time I'd come was to bury my Grandmother far too soon from having just buried the people I called Mom and Dad.
I told my Grandmother I'd loved her more than anything in the world and she replied, "You know what I think of you." Indeed I did. Miss L, indeed I did. I knew I was her sunshine. She used to sit at the piano with me at her side and play, "Sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey; you'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away..." I knew every line of that song was meant for me when it was coming from Grandma's voice. Later, when Grandma got sick with cancer, I played the song for her, wrote her a note telling her I knew she'd go to heaven and I'd do anything in my power to take away her pain. That I'd take the cancer into my body and I'd suffer the pain, if only I could find a way. She taught me what it meant to love and Miss L, I've never lost the lesson, though I might have forgotten it for brief spells.
You know what my only hangup was Miss L? My biological mother, Grandma's daughter, had used drugs until she was permanently affected. She became clinically insane. My biological mother was a stubborn woman, vowing her children would go to the state before leaving them with her family. The way she'd be sure of this was any attempt at my biological family's trying to raise us would result in my biological mother stalking them.
She re-entered her family because they are very quick to disown and ignore the issues that come up with their members who are failing. They did the same to me, but not Grandma. Grandma felt love heals everything and hope is everywhere. She passed the idea to me. Still, Miss L, my mother's selfishness was the linchpin in screwing up the early years of my life. I'll take the credit for the latter. Yet my Grandmother never gave up on her daughter. My mother was a master manipulator and at times used her sickness to get over on people, mainly my Grandmother. It still to this day is someone else's faults in my biological mother's eyes.
My Grandma never made it to Christmas. I buried her not long after we buried my adopted parents. It was the first time I'd ever seen my Grandfather cry. My biological mother held my hand as we sat in the back of the limo, behind the hearse. I really wanted to yank my hand away. Sick or not, she was not my mother. I didn't hate her, I just realized there was no connection; that connection had been lost. I did however resent her for her folly where it concerned using my Grandmother, but she'd never appreciate my Grandmother. My Grandmother never stopped loving her and perhaps there's a life lesson there. I still sign the letters to my biological mother, "Love Victor" but I don't feel love, I just feel nothing.
Three months later Grandpa died of a heart attack. I locked myself in the room and wailed. I cried until I could cry no more. It was far too soon. I hadn't healed from my previous losses.
I eventually picked myself up and kept as busy as I could. I'd do anything to keep myself busy, to avoid obsessing over the losses. The world I found was not planning on stopping for my problems, though in my world, time ceased to exist. I was for all intents and purposes living on the moon. Not happy in my mind until I met my friends in the next life. If I had been given the option to turn into a tree so that I could have been at on a plane where I could talk to those I'd love and lost, I'd've left everything behind just for another conversation, another laugh. Unfortunate as reality is, it wasn't possible to turn into a tree and speak to those who'd left the living.
Fast forward to the now. Today I cried while taking a shower. I was washing my hair and the tears streamed down my face. I cried for you. I've a thousand worries - if I'll be harmed; will I get my time reduced; will my 77-year-old surrogate mother be alive when I get out; will my sister's son ever know me; what will become of me. No, today I thought of you and your situation.
I'm talking about the situation which you are building for your children. Do you love your children? Do you care that what you are doing now might affect them their entire life? Do you like jail? Not the county jail: I'm talking prison.
You know what I had to do today? I had to reassure my roommate that he'd be all right. He just signed a plea agreement for 30 years. Half of me thinks 30 years is just fine for a person who's killed another; the other half of me hopes he'll change his life and do something worthwhile. He had killed in the drug wars. War is war, I think, sometimes, but quickly correct myself.
This is not life Miss L. Whatever demons are inflicting you now, there's a way to break free, I promise you. You can bury your head in the sand, Miss L, bury it with pills, booze and the like. The only lives you're ruining are your kids' lives. Take a good look in the mirror. Look at what you've become. Know that whatever problems you have, they can be dealt with. Love, love, love, love your kids. I promise they'll love you back. Love life and it'll find a way to love you too. You need to look hard into the mirror, Miss L, and you can't con yourself. The system is as dumb as a door nail and you and I know how to dance around it because it's just more of the same. They'll give you plenty of cliche-type words, thoughts and reflections. All won't be worth a d**n the second you leave. At least it's a nice place to rest and heal. It's rehab I'm speaking of.
I took a Vicoden and drank behind it at a party once. I woke up and no one was inside. Apparently I'd chased them out and didn't realize it. I'm not going to sit here and tell you I never did Xtasy or smoked pot. I did and I enjoyed it. I'm not advocating here against some drugs, but that isn't the point. I'm advocating against your ruining your life and in turn ruining your kids' lives. Just stop. Whatever is eating you alive, air it. I assure you that you are not at the point of no return. Not if you're reading this now.
Miss L, would you please stay out of jail? This is such a f**king worthless place. I wasn't myself a couple of weeks ago. They had shakedowns and threw my property all over the room. It was obviously the work of an not a very nice person, but what recourse do I have in prison? I'll answer that for you: NONE. This place is no joke. The whole atmosphere can change in a fraction of a second. After you sober up Miss L, this place is still here and I have found it gets worse and worse as time progresses. This places goes from good to bad, violent to calm, in milliseconds - really.
We can't change the past; the past has left us for good. Let us focus on the future, one day at a time. I anger some of the people I know because I refuse to plan too far ahead. For starters, without a reduction, I've seven years left to do. Secondly, while I may plan, I live one day at a time, with concern for the future. I don't buy into all the AA nuts, but I do my best to live one day at a time. One day when I've put this situation behind me I'll talk about long-term plans. Right now that's too much for me as I'm sure that's too much for you too. I've got to get through this prison time and in one piece. I want to leave how I came physically. You - you've got to get busy living. Would you Miss L? Live for your children because these are the years you want to cherish your girls. Don't be like my bio mother, don't dare abandon your children in lieu of an escape, of some pills and potions. Embrace reality for what it's worth, working through the problems and doing so one day at a time.
I'll most certainly keep you in my thoughts, Miss L. I love you in advance for the way I know you'll pull through for yourself, your family and your kids.
Write me any time. I'll be here in prison, doing enough time for the both of us. I'll fully expect you to do the living for both of us.
Truly yours,
Victor E. Lopez
www.VictorLopez.PowersAndMorrison.com
TO MISS L, WITH LOVE
by Victor E. Lopez
A few days ago I received a letter from Virginia Beach. It was from a correspondent of mine. We'll call her Miss Virginia Beach. The letter just broke my heart. I'm going to excerpt it below and have done some modification of the names as not to violate anyone's privacy. Miss Virginia Beach wrote me:
Victor,
I apologize for not writing back until now. I've had a lot going on. My oldest daughter, Lisa, who is 35 years old this year and the mother of two young girls, is trying to end up like you, in prison. She has a drug and alcohol problem and has been teetering on the brink of death or jail for about six months now. She lives in Indiana and I'm in Virginia. Not that I could do anything about it if she were here, because she was here and I couldn't help her ... no matter how hard I tried. She went into a treatment center today, after being arrested for drunk and disorderly and resisting arrest (could be more charges, but that's what I have been told). The police felt sorry for her and took her to a hospital where she was in ICU for three days. She has been taking prescription Zanax and drinking alcohol in large quantities. That combination alone can be deadly. Then you have the effects of the withdrawal, which can also kill you. The only two drugs that cause seizure and possible death from withdrawal are alcohol and Zanax. Figures she would take both! So that's why she was in ICU for three days. The police know her mother-in-law and told her that they'd drop the charges if she stays in rehab.
I am writing you right now because I read your papers on Powers & Morrison and I am sending one of them to my daughter Lisa. The one titled "In Exile." I hope perhaps YOUR words can get through to her. She's been through this drug rehab stuff before and has always worked the staff better than the program... if you know what I mean. She's a master manipulator and can convince most people of anything she wants. I say most people because she can't fool me, or her Dad. We've got her number. The difference with her this time is she has two children now. The other times she landed in treatment she was single and had no kids. She was only hurting herself. Now she is torturing my poor granddaughters with her outrageous behavior and I'm so relieved that at least she is hospitalized today. How long she'll stay, nobody can say.
Victor, you're a very good writer. Just in case no one ever tells you that, you are! I'm very impressed with you as I knew I would be listening to Malloy describe you. My heart breaks for you. Like they say, all the wrong people are in jail and all the wrong people are out! How true, and how incredibly sad that is.
(She goes on but I'll end it here.)
What broke my heart the most were the kids and Miss Virginia Beach's realization of her daughter's condition and antics in one breath and the hope in the other breath.
I was compelled, after putting down that letter, to write a piece which would be a bit more direct. I am well aware that a letter can't be so spellbinding as to break through, but I can only hope it helps. What follows will not be a literary work of art - this comes straight from my heart onto this paper and will eventually be put at a place where others can read it. So what follows may not be catchy. I just hope its intended purpose is served.
Dear Miss L,
Greetings! I hope, as you are reading this letter, that you are at a point where you'll understand the words which are before you. If you are not, that is fine. Just do me one favor, fold this up and read it when you're ready. This letter can be read on the way up or on the way down. It's really just important that you read. Read between the lines, read the lines, just read. There are two little girls whom you held in your body and whom I know you love that are depending on you to read this and succeed. Succeeding doesn't always mean perfect success, it means doing your d**ndest and hoping for the best. That's what I'm going to do now and I hope it is received well.
I don't know a thing about you and likewise you don't know a thing about me: a great place to start. (Ask your mother to print up the story on my existence so you'll know a bit more about me.)
I'd like to establish a couple of facts before I proceed. You are older than I, thus I am not condescending as I write; I'm speaking up to you. You've got children and I don't. You've got a mother and father who are very much alive and care. I've lost mine a couple of times. You're in a mental prison and I'm in a physical prison. You're killing yourself slowly and I'm fighting to save my life. Yet here's something we have in common: we're both human, both flawed, both redeemable and I've lived in Indiana!
I feel that I should introduce myself to the degree that you could better understand where I'm coming from and why I give a d**n. I'm a product of 40 foster homes, three group homes and was adopted, loved, then the same people who'd adopted me, loved me, were killed in a car accident. In the same month my Grandma passed away due to complications from cancer. She was a d**n fine woman! I spoke to her on the phone before she passed. I'd told her it was Fall and all the leaves had changed in Illinois. She was in Tennessee. We shared that as a favorite season. I teared up as I told her I'd be to see her at Christmas and she told me, "Victor, sweetie, Grandma might not make it to Christmas." I remember quite clearly the frustration I had, trying to find the place I'd put my heavy coat. I'd never been to my grandparents' home in the wintertime. I spent my entire summers with them. The only time I'd come was to bury my Grandmother far too soon from having just buried the people I called Mom and Dad.
I told my Grandmother I'd loved her more than anything in the world and she replied, "You know what I think of you." Indeed I did. Miss L, indeed I did. I knew I was her sunshine. She used to sit at the piano with me at her side and play, "Sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey; you'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away..." I knew every line of that song was meant for me when it was coming from Grandma's voice. Later, when Grandma got sick with cancer, I played the song for her, wrote her a note telling her I knew she'd go to heaven and I'd do anything in my power to take away her pain. That I'd take the cancer into my body and I'd suffer the pain, if only I could find a way. She taught me what it meant to love and Miss L, I've never lost the lesson, though I might have forgotten it for brief spells.
You know what my only hangup was Miss L? My biological mother, Grandma's daughter, had used drugs until she was permanently affected. She became clinically insane. My biological mother was a stubborn woman, vowing her children would go to the state before leaving them with her family. The way she'd be sure of this was any attempt at my biological family's trying to raise us would result in my biological mother stalking them.
She re-entered her family because they are very quick to disown and ignore the issues that come up with their members who are failing. They did the same to me, but not Grandma. Grandma felt love heals everything and hope is everywhere. She passed the idea to me. Still, Miss L, my mother's selfishness was the linchpin in screwing up the early years of my life. I'll take the credit for the latter. Yet my Grandmother never gave up on her daughter. My mother was a master manipulator and at times used her sickness to get over on people, mainly my Grandmother. It still to this day is someone else's faults in my biological mother's eyes.
My Grandma never made it to Christmas. I buried her not long after we buried my adopted parents. It was the first time I'd ever seen my Grandfather cry. My biological mother held my hand as we sat in the back of the limo, behind the hearse. I really wanted to yank my hand away. Sick or not, she was not my mother. I didn't hate her, I just realized there was no connection; that connection had been lost. I did however resent her for her folly where it concerned using my Grandmother, but she'd never appreciate my Grandmother. My Grandmother never stopped loving her and perhaps there's a life lesson there. I still sign the letters to my biological mother, "Love Victor" but I don't feel love, I just feel nothing.
Three months later Grandpa died of a heart attack. I locked myself in the room and wailed. I cried until I could cry no more. It was far too soon. I hadn't healed from my previous losses.
I eventually picked myself up and kept as busy as I could. I'd do anything to keep myself busy, to avoid obsessing over the losses. The world I found was not planning on stopping for my problems, though in my world, time ceased to exist. I was for all intents and purposes living on the moon. Not happy in my mind until I met my friends in the next life. If I had been given the option to turn into a tree so that I could have been at on a plane where I could talk to those I'd love and lost, I'd've left everything behind just for another conversation, another laugh. Unfortunate as reality is, it wasn't possible to turn into a tree and speak to those who'd left the living.
Fast forward to the now. Today I cried while taking a shower. I was washing my hair and the tears streamed down my face. I cried for you. I've a thousand worries - if I'll be harmed; will I get my time reduced; will my 77-year-old surrogate mother be alive when I get out; will my sister's son ever know me; what will become of me. No, today I thought of you and your situation.
I'm talking about the situation which you are building for your children. Do you love your children? Do you care that what you are doing now might affect them their entire life? Do you like jail? Not the county jail: I'm talking prison.
You know what I had to do today? I had to reassure my roommate that he'd be all right. He just signed a plea agreement for 30 years. Half of me thinks 30 years is just fine for a person who's killed another; the other half of me hopes he'll change his life and do something worthwhile. He had killed in the drug wars. War is war, I think, sometimes, but quickly correct myself.
This is not life Miss L. Whatever demons are inflicting you now, there's a way to break free, I promise you. You can bury your head in the sand, Miss L, bury it with pills, booze and the like. The only lives you're ruining are your kids' lives. Take a good look in the mirror. Look at what you've become. Know that whatever problems you have, they can be dealt with. Love, love, love, love your kids. I promise they'll love you back. Love life and it'll find a way to love you too. You need to look hard into the mirror, Miss L, and you can't con yourself. The system is as dumb as a door nail and you and I know how to dance around it because it's just more of the same. They'll give you plenty of cliche-type words, thoughts and reflections. All won't be worth a d**n the second you leave. At least it's a nice place to rest and heal. It's rehab I'm speaking of.
I took a Vicoden and drank behind it at a party once. I woke up and no one was inside. Apparently I'd chased them out and didn't realize it. I'm not going to sit here and tell you I never did Xtasy or smoked pot. I did and I enjoyed it. I'm not advocating here against some drugs, but that isn't the point. I'm advocating against your ruining your life and in turn ruining your kids' lives. Just stop. Whatever is eating you alive, air it. I assure you that you are not at the point of no return. Not if you're reading this now.
Miss L, would you please stay out of jail? This is such a f**king worthless place. I wasn't myself a couple of weeks ago. They had shakedowns and threw my property all over the room. It was obviously the work of an not a very nice person, but what recourse do I have in prison? I'll answer that for you: NONE. This place is no joke. The whole atmosphere can change in a fraction of a second. After you sober up Miss L, this place is still here and I have found it gets worse and worse as time progresses. This places goes from good to bad, violent to calm, in milliseconds - really.
We can't change the past; the past has left us for good. Let us focus on the future, one day at a time. I anger some of the people I know because I refuse to plan too far ahead. For starters, without a reduction, I've seven years left to do. Secondly, while I may plan, I live one day at a time, with concern for the future. I don't buy into all the AA nuts, but I do my best to live one day at a time. One day when I've put this situation behind me I'll talk about long-term plans. Right now that's too much for me as I'm sure that's too much for you too. I've got to get through this prison time and in one piece. I want to leave how I came physically. You - you've got to get busy living. Would you Miss L? Live for your children because these are the years you want to cherish your girls. Don't be like my bio mother, don't dare abandon your children in lieu of an escape, of some pills and potions. Embrace reality for what it's worth, working through the problems and doing so one day at a time.
I'll most certainly keep you in my thoughts, Miss L. I love you in advance for the way I know you'll pull through for yourself, your family and your kids.
Write me any time. I'll be here in prison, doing enough time for the both of us. I'll fully expect you to do the living for both of us.
Truly yours,
Victor E. Lopez
