Letters to the Olders

As the middle child, I never expected that I would one day be the one to care for our parents, at least presently, and it appears for now, permanently.

As the olders, you were supposed to be the pillars of support for Mom and Dad. They had placed their trust, dreams, hopes, expectations, and most of their love on both of you. And now, you have broken Mom and Dad. You have broken Mom and Dad for us, the youngers. Now, when they’re sad, I have to listen to them tell me that none of their kids love them. And to hear them say we will become like you two olders.

Yes. I do resent you both for placing all responsibilities on me. I wouldn’t have minded sharing the responsibilities, but they only have me, now, to rely on. And I am only one person, working to take care of Mom, Dad, Cat, and Ed. I have placed my dreams on hold and I am angry.

Do you know that I will be working 3 jobs? Do you know how often I cry, and how often I have no one to talk to? Do you? Do you know I prayed to God and asked him to give me strength? To take away the tears so that I will no longer cry and make Mom and Dad sad anymore? Do you know how much I’ve changed?

But you don’t seem to care. You don’t call Mom and Dad to ask them about their health. You don’t visit – and if you do, it’s to ask them for money. But when they cut you off, you threw a fit and left, door slamming behind you. And do you know who has to deal with an angry Mom and Dad? Do you know the pieces you’ve broken and have left trailing behind you for the younger ones pick up?

You resent Mom and Dad. You say they are the bad ones. You tell Mom and Dad they didn’t have to give birth to you. You tell them they’re bad parents. You tell them they don’t love you. You tell them it’s because of them you hate them.

Older Sister, when your child died, you didn’t tell Mom and Dad. But you let the world think they chose not to come to his funeral. That they didn’t grieve. And when your new child was born, you let Mom and Dad hear it from a distant relative, Oh your daughter has such a beautiful son! Don’t you know how much you hurt them? And do you know how much your minister husband, who hates without forgiveness, made Dad lose his faith in the good of people who claim they are spreading God’s love and gospel?

Older Brother, you refuse to let your children visit Mom and Dad. And yet, you expect Mom and Dad to let your brother visit you. You say you love your only brother. How is it you do not also love Mom and Dad? You play to the tune of your wife’s machinations. A puppet who angers easily if Mom and Dad won’t also play to the tune. Yes, they don’t like your wife. Who in the world would, if they had also been called dogs.

But no, you do not know because you no longer care. If you cared, you would visit, despite the pride, the anger, the sadness. In your hearts, you have sealed away the memories of Mom and Dad.

Mom and Dad carrying you, Older Brother, through the jungles of Laos, evading the Pathet Lao in the middle of the night. Dad’s back, raw from carrying the heavy cans of powdered milk because Mom couldn’t breastfeed you. Mom, leaving for the edge of the makeshift camp in the jungle, carrying a large blade of banana leaf, to protect you from the heavy rain, because you cried at night and the others feared your cry would bring attention to everyone else.

Older Sister, in the refugee camps of Thailand, you were born and you were sick. Frail and jaundiced, you were on the brink of death. Mom loved you so much, she sold fruits and chickens illegally despite the repercussion if the Thai soldiers had found out. She did all that so she could buy a tiny pig so Grandmother could call your wandering spirit back to your tiny body. And you became healthy again.

How can that not be Mom and Dad’s love? How can you say they shouldn’t have given birth to you? How can you no longer love them? And if no love exists, then at least you should honor them for the very fact that they loved you in the very best way they knew how. They gave and gave. So that now, you can have your own children. And now that you have your own children, I hope that you will understand. The pain of being a parent. The pain of hearing your child tell you they hate you. Tell you they don’t love you. Tell you that you didn’t have to give birth to them. I hope one day you realize this before it’s too late.