Letters From a Son

A lot happened since my last letter to you. In fact, so much has happened in a short amount of time, I’m not even sure where to begin. I don’t even know how to describe it and fit it all in one note.

I’m learning more and more that there are things I cannot say any longer. Each day, I learn more about the meaning behind the words we use and how we seem to forget that everything we say has meaning. No matter how loosely we use a word or how we choose to use our them;the bottom line is words have meaning so there are things I’m training myself not to say anymore. First and foremost, there are two words connected together that I’m working hard to remove from my vocabulary. And those words are, “I can’t.”
That being said, there are times when saying, “I can’t” is an okay thing. But still, I’m working on changing the way I speak.

It is okay to say, “I can’t stop now,” or “I can’t quit,” if I’m working hard on something that comes with the benefit at the end of the day And it’s okay to say “I can’t give up on this,” or “I can’t walk away from my dreams.” These are okay things to say but I think I’ll change, “I can’t” or “Cannot,” to “I won’t” or “Will not,” because I like the sound of determination.

A long time ago you told me, “I believe in you.” I remember wondering how anyone could believe in me. And of course I doubted it this because I always used the words, “I can’t.”
I had an “I can’t” mentality. I had dreams but I couldn’t achieve them. I had goals but I couldn’t reach them. In fact, I couldn’t do much of anything because I lived in an “I can’t do it” way of thinking.

Well, I’m working on this.
The universe has a funny way of showing us our purpose in life, which puts me to where I am now. So much has gone on in the last few months. More importantly, so much has gone on in the last few hours. And it’s enough to make my head spin.

I sat in the pocket with educated minds and I didn’t slip once. I wasn’t scared, —or at least I didn’t give into my usual fears and I didn’t give in to intimidation. I also didn’t use words like, “I can’t.”

I wanted to call you last night but the phone doesn’t ring where you both live now. Besides, I didn’t walk through the door until late last night.
Mom, I wanted to call you to tell you but like I said, the phone doesn’t ring where you are. So I figured I would write this letter and send it out to the universe with hopes this gets to you soon.

I’ve been working on programs to help people like us. I’m trying to help take the pain away and I’ve landed in with a group that wants to do the same thing. It’s working Mom. I’m doing it.  Maybe this is what happens when I remove the words “I can’t” from my vocabulary.

I spoke with a young kid last night and I heard “The old me,” in his voice. I heard the fear. I heard the anxiousness. I heard the doubtfulness that comes when living with an “I can’t” mindset, and after speaking for a while, we agreed to place those words on a “Do Not Use” list.

The meaning behind, “I can’t” is almost spiritless and deflating. The words, “I can” have meaning to. They have spirit. The words, “I can” have life. They give life and add life. I like that.

I sat in the pocket last night, Mom. I didn’t say the words, “I can’t do this.” in my head or give in to doubt. That didn’t happen once.
Last night, I imagined you and Pop someplace in a world I suppose you both used to dream about.
In my head, I saw you in a world of constant retirement. I imagine the place I saw you in was the place you both dreamed about when you planned to retire.

I imagined me calling you. You answered the phone on the wall near the kitchen. The room is bright. The walls were white and all the furnishings are something I figured you both pictured when you thought about your Florida dream house.

I imagined you answered the phone. And you would smile and tell Pop it was me. I could hear the excitement in your voice when you asked, “How did it go?” when asking about my meeting. And then after I answered, I imagined you with your right hand on the back of the white phone, a cord hanging down from the white receiver and looping back up to the base on the wall. Then with your left hand cupping the bottom of the phone, I imagined you turning to Pop who sat over in a large white armchair, a sliding glass door behind him with the backyard palms swaying in the outside dream, him looking down in his white golf attire, reading his newspaper, and looking up at you when you’d shout, “He said they loved it!”

I can see this place where I imagine you both live now. I can see the decorations on the wall, the pictures hanging, and everything is soft and white like the South Florida retirement dream you both shared

I imagined this last night. This way I could hear you say, “Son, I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do it.”

It was enough to make me dream a little bit last night. But for now, I’m just a boy wishing he could hear his Mom’s voice. For now, I’m just a kid wishing I could hear The Old Man’s voice. And I know what he would say.
Pop would tell me, “I always knew you could do it,” but he would follow that up with, “It was you that never thought you could.”

This is why I won’t say, “I can’t” anymore Mom.
Because the truth is I can . . .
Anyway, I have to get going. I have to get out of the house and head to work. I hope this note finds you both well in that dream house I’ve pictured in my head.

I’ll write you again soon Mom

I love you

Your son

B—

 

unnamed.jpgmomand pop

 

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