Dear Mom,
Some version of this letter was supposed to make its way to you by the time we had whatever graduation celebration was in the works. As that never happened, or at least not in any kind of unified way, I can only offer it to you now in this form. It’s a bit of a general reflection, a bit of something else I can’t quite describe, and what I hope can be a piece of inspiration for whoever else reads it.
Inspiration, then, because that is truly part of what the last couple years of watching you fight in the world of academia with the job you keep and the responsibilities you hold has been—inspiring. I have been by your side in the trenches, a mercenary of language and decorum, for most of it, that’s true, but I wouldn’t have been there without you. This was a herculean effort of expense and rigor unique to you, and these things are always unique to you. That this one was as recent as it is proves only the thing that I know and those around you who know and love you know to be true: you are capable of a vast number of invaluable things and rarely find a challenge you do not overcome.
My have there been challenges of late. There are aspects of your life that I tell people it would not be possible to include in literature. I think it was Harry Turtledove who wrote that fiction needs to be plausible, and all history has to do is happen. The deaths, both sudden and slow, that have impacted and are impacting your life represent a challenge I think few without your tenacity of spirit and love of living would survive. That you remain, and that you keep fighting, is a testament to you as a person and no one else. Your ability to navigate entire new fields and careers, to form friendships and professional spheres out of the nothing that surrounds us, is enviable for its frequency and surety.
I know when we fight that dad likes to describe it as the lion and the bull, for I am Leo and you, Taurus. The same drive and dedication can be read as stubbornness and inflexibility, it’s true. But I would resist such base analysis of the kind of person you are. We return again to inspiration, and over the course of at least my life there are few better words for it. I do not think I would have pushed myself to the lengths I have were it not for a want of either coming to resemble the mother I love, or in the inverse to spite her. This being, of course, the double edged sword of inspiration I think we both have experienced. The ashes and craters of battlefields in the history of our relationship we do disservice in not acknowledging, and here is our admission of them. They are inherent to our natures and significant not only for the gaps they leave but for the visual signs that we have rebuilt atop them and continue anyway. There your drive, and your limitless capacity for the new.
An expansive view of my life, one constructed with an eye towards achieving goals, building depth and rise, of seeking new places and experiences, and enjoying everything it has to offer has its start with you. My love of writing, of creativity, of creation has its start with you— begins with memories of snot-covered communion and ER PA’s as pirates. There is a perpetual youth to your hold on life that I hope I am only able to maintain in mine, and a sense of wonder behind the drive and ambition that I hope you never lose.
What happens next is anyone’s guess. I hope you find some time to rest and recover, and celebrate your victories, for they are numerous, though I think we do ourselves in a disservice in thinking there are not more projects ahead for you to conquer. Know I will be ready to assist then as I have been in the past, and will forever be inspired by the futures you’re able to build.
Your loving son,
Justin X. M. Corriss