Template:Ileana's Letters/Mămică

Dear Mămică,

It's been a long time. I am Ileana Brendușa Radu. You named me that, remember? Me and Luca.

Is there some gene you have, that you've passed down to us, that makes us run away? Something in our DNA that makes us more prone to flight rather than fight? Some toxic birthright that you've given to me and Luca? Some reason we've all run, leaving behind people who needed us?

Did you premeditate leaving? Was it a last-minute decision? Was it a decision at all, or did you freak out and flee, uncontrollably?

When we were babies, you took us. You wanted us so much that you stole us from Nicușor in the middle of the night. You must've loved us to have done that.

I can't remember you anymore. Not your face, nor your voice. Do you remember me? Could I have seen you before? Passed you in a crowded train station, and never known?

There's a difference between being apologetic and being regretful, I've learned. To apologize, you admit that you did something wrong. To regret, you wish you could undo something and do it differently. Are you either?

I'm a woman grown now. Old enough to not need a mother. Old enough to have left someone who depended on me; who may have needed me. And I don't regret it. I'm not even sure if I'm apologetic.

But still, the childish part of me persists and wants to believe that you are. And the infantile part of me wants to believe that it hurt you, out of petty revenge because it hurt me.

If you hadn't left, I would be a stranger to myself. My whole life would unravel before my eyes. So in a very logical way, I suppose I owe you my thanks. So here: Thank you. Thank you for enabling everything I've ever known — the fucked up glory of it — to be.

I'm sorry for all the hell I must've put you through when I was small. I'm sorry for the pain I caused you, and I'm sorry for my part in events.

Bunicuță said I look like you. I never cared about that — I always wanted to look like Luca. (Or perhaps I wanted him to look like me; I'm not sure. I was quite young and I didn't think it through.) It's odd, but as I write this now, I'm a little glad I look like you, although I'm sure I couldn't pin down why.

You don't need to explain why you left, nor apologize. I think I'm finally over that. If you ever want to see me — if only to see if we really do look alike — that's alright, you can. You don't need to explain the past to me if you see me; I won't ask.

And just in case the news didn't reach you, your parents Florina and Răzvan died. It was 5 years ago now. Dragon pox; Florina got it first, and then Răzvan contracted it from her. He died a few days before she did. They're buried in Mălâncrav, if you ever want to visit their graves.

-Your daughter