From an essay to a Poem: Letters

Letters, a Poem  

While in college, mom wrote me at least one
letter a week: she gave pep talks, caught me up
on local news, asked about college and closed
every letter, and I do mean EVERY letter with
these three words (after “God bless and keep you”):
Keep the Faith.
 
She did not vary her closure and because of it,
the idea of keeping faith and believing was
ingrained into me, during ‘the best of times
and the worst of times’.
 
I kept mom’s letters. They moved with me from
Bloomington to all the places I lived and, finally,
when we moved from Maryland to Florida I was
forced to sort through them simply by virtue of the
fact that I had accumulated so much paper
through the years. I kept the ‘most important’ ones.
A difficult task, because they were all
 “the most important ones”.
 
My dear mother died in my arms: as she promised.
After her death, I took on the task of sorting through
her mountains of correspondence and when I came
to the box, which held my own letters to her,
it was painful, squared. I read through all of them ~
letters I’d written to her when I was faltering in college;
when I excelled and asked permission to declare a
third major (physics) which would have added
another two years to my studies (answer ~ no);
a letter telling her I’d been chosen the first
‘University Tutor’ for the Soc department and
my students would be returning Viet Nam vets,
then, later, explaining the horror, the anguish
I felt as they broke down, one by one, and
confessed their terrifying secrets, just to be shed
of the negative energy; a letter from Africa, when I was
delirious with malaria and certain I would
never see her again.
 
I found painful letters after a doctor permanently
blinded me in my right eye and the entire staff met
with me to explain the photophobia I suffered
through was an indication that, almost certainly, my
 left eye would soon go blind, in sympathy ~ AND,
my letter explaining to her that I had to leave for
Europe almost immediately if I were to see the
Louvre and Mona, and El Greco’s studio, in Toledo,
which I was, then, obsessed with; letters I wrote
while in college publishing explaining why I did not
want this or that promotion to NYC and reminding
her I was, after all, a simple country girl.
 
I found a letter detailing my first college publishing
meeting with Neal Armstrong and how the other
(ALL male) book reps set me up for a huge, but
hilarious, failure (as a joke) and how incredibly
wonderful it turned out. There were letters feigning
happiness as I traveled the world, alone and lost.
Letters from Paris, from London, from Marrakech,
Ibadan, Lagos, Madrid.  Letters telling her about
Jack and, later, about our lives as we raised Chris ~
our successes and failures, my Loves,
 fears, sorrows and joys.
 
I found the letters I’d written to her, explaining my
alcoholism, just to prepare her for my visit, hoping to
make amends for past behaviour.  Sad letters.  Letters
filled with excitement and wonder as I navigated the
situations and experiences of my life as best I could.
Letters. Letters. Letters.
 
My closings mirrored hers, only not as decisive, perhaps
because I had travelled so far from home and seen
so much and because, you see, I could never simply
look away.  So, I signed off “Keeping Faith”,
“Keeping the Faith” or more often than not,
“Trying to Keep the Faith”.
 
My life has been a series of Spiritual battles: some
hard won and some grave defeats. All, important
for my enduring and endeavours; for my fractured
understanding of my life, in its entirety. The forest or
the trees? Both. At various times.
 
My life has, also, been an ongoing series of prayers and
promises. Keeping faith has allowed me to successfully
decipher some very deep and immense secrets. I have
fought hard battles, I have run mean-spirited gauntlets,
I have waged war against my ego, having both lost and
won those wars. I have surrendered, sure I faced demise,
only to rise higher than I’d thought ever possible for
one as limited in so many ways, as I.
I have surrendered.
I have surrendered.
I surrender, even now.
 
We are indoctrinated from our earliest years to
BELIEVE. Winning is everything. That, if we will
only Keep the Faith, it will all “work out for us”
(which translates to – we will WIN). It has taken the
entirety of my life to realize that we ALWAYS win,
regardless of our perceived outcome. We are all,
always, the winners because within each experience,
each moment ~ lives the opportunity to learn a new
facet of Love: forgiveness, patience, compassion,
trust, tolerance, gratitude, joy etc., etc.
 
There is, ever, something more to internalize. Some
additional ‘weapon’ for our Spiritual arsenals and
which we can readily use in our battles and wars
against our egos. Surely, when ego/fear wins ~
Love/Spirit ‘suffers’.
 
So, mom’s suggestion, which was used so brilliantly
and repeatedly over my six years in college, ten years
in college publishing, into the decades of marriage
and motherhood and right up until she tore from
her earthly existence, back to her genuine existence,
never wavered or faltered regardless of the traumas she,
or I, were going through at the time:
KEEP THE FAITH.
 
I do not always succeed, Mom, but (you know) I do
always TRY. Those three words have served me
incredibly well during this life. I am grateful I had Mom
and her wisdom. I pass along that wisdom to all of you,
as you proceed through the days of your lives:
KEEP THE FAITH.
 
 from an essay to a poem by Barbara Helvey Hughes, 2016-2021
Peter, Mom would have LOVED you.