She’s unprepared for the real world. She thinks she can start trying at any time and the world will bend to her will. She posted something like that on Facebook a couple months back, something like, “When I turn it on, it’ll all turn around.” I was surprised by her hubris, by her un-Marley-like bravado. Maybe it was false, but I can’t know. It could have been what helped her board that bus.
There’s so much I can’t know. I should have been reading her Facebook regularly. Then, when she first posted something out of character, I could have asked her about it. That’s one of the places where I failed her. I’m starting to think relationships are like Rube Goldberg machines: Nothing is simple, and we’re always setting off chain reactions.
It’s why (to return to that word yet again) I’m having so much trouble getting anywhere with this letter. I want to apologize for all the unanticipated consequences of my actions and inaction; I want to promise to do better. But one of the PR rules is that we can’t look like we’re to blame. We have to be the perfect family, except that one member up and ran away.
I need to write something, anything. I can’t deal with this sclerosis anymore. Ramble, and Candace can edit me later. No, I’ll edit me later. I don’t trust Candace. She stands too close to Paul; her eyes are always too bright, like sapphires; she’s got her whole life ahead of her, and my missing daughter is her stepping stone.
Marley,
You’ve been gone eight days now, and every second, some part of me is praying for your safe return. I’m sure that seems surprising to you, because you’ve never heard me talk about religion. I’m Jewish, but we never went to synagogue; we went to church, because your father wanted that. I do believe in God, though.
I’m already breaking the rules, going off message. Not a word of this is going to make it past the censors (i.e., Paul and Candace). Even I don’t think it deserves to. But I have to keep going. I’ll stumble on something usable eventually.
I believe that God wants you in the world, as I do, because you’re a good person. A loving person. You’re Marley, my Marley.
Speaking of God, this is god-awful. I can’t do this. Only I have to. This is my direct appeal, my shot at speaking from my heart to hers. I know her heart, don’t I? I’ve lived with her for fourteen years, all the years she’s had.
What does it even mean to be a good person? I don’t know if we’ve raised her to think of others. She doesn’t seem to be thinking of us, after we’ve devoted our lives to her well-being. Fourteen years of parenting, and all I got was a lousy whiteboard note. I should put that on a T-shirt and wear it to the vigil, really give them something to tweet about.
You arranged to leave, that much is clear, but I’m terrified that something will go wrong, that something has already gone wrong, and you won’t be able to come back even if you want to. I’m frightened about what might happen to you out there on your own. There are people who want to take advantage of a young girl, who want to
I can’t even finish that thought. Delete. Start over.
Marley,
I don’t know why you left. I don’t know if it had to do with me, or with your father, or with our marriage. I don’t know if it had to do with the move and being in an unfamiliar place, away from your old friends. I don’t know, because you’re not here to tell me. But I want to listen. I want to help you find happiness. I need you to come home and talk to me. I love you so very much. I feel like I might die without you. I truly feel that, when I always thought it was just something people said. It’s not. It’s real. A pain like this, it can
No, stop. End on how much I love her. No guilt trips. End there.
Only I find that I don’t want to.
You might have figured out that I was thinking of divorcing your father. You asked me, and I said no, but you could have seen through
There’s so much I can’t know. I should have been reading her Facebook regularly. Then, when she first posted something out of character, I could have asked her about it. That’s one of the places where I failed her. I’m starting to think relationships are like Rube Goldberg machines: Nothing is simple, and we’re always setting off chain reactions.
It’s why (to return to that word yet again) I’m having so much trouble getting anywhere with this letter. I want to apologize for all the unanticipated consequences of my actions and inaction; I want to promise to do better. But one of the PR rules is that we can’t look like we’re to blame. We have to be the perfect family, except that one member up and ran away.
I need to write something, anything. I can’t deal with this sclerosis anymore. Ramble, and Candace can edit me later. No, I’ll edit me later. I don’t trust Candace. She stands too close to Paul; her eyes are always too bright, like sapphires; she’s got her whole life ahead of her, and my missing daughter is her stepping stone.
Marley,
You’ve been gone eight days now, and every second, some part of me is praying for your safe return. I’m sure that seems surprising to you, because you’ve never heard me talk about religion. I’m Jewish, but we never went to synagogue; we went to church, because your father wanted that. I do believe in God, though.
I’m already breaking the rules, going off message. Not a word of this is going to make it past the censors (i.e., Paul and Candace). Even I don’t think it deserves to. But I have to keep going. I’ll stumble on something usable eventually.
I believe that God wants you in the world, as I do, because you’re a good person. A loving person. You’re Marley, my Marley.
Speaking of God, this is god-awful. I can’t do this. Only I have to. This is my direct appeal, my shot at speaking from my heart to hers. I know her heart, don’t I? I’ve lived with her for fourteen years, all the years she’s had.
What does it even mean to be a good person? I don’t know if we’ve raised her to think of others. She doesn’t seem to be thinking of us, after we’ve devoted our lives to her well-being. Fourteen years of parenting, and all I got was a lousy whiteboard note. I should put that on a T-shirt and wear it to the vigil, really give them something to tweet about.
You arranged to leave, that much is clear, but I’m terrified that something will go wrong, that something has already gone wrong, and you won’t be able to come back even if you want to. I’m frightened about what might happen to you out there on your own. There are people who want to take advantage of a young girl, who want to
I can’t even finish that thought. Delete. Start over.
Marley,
I don’t know why you left. I don’t know if it had to do with me, or with your father, or with our marriage. I don’t know if it had to do with the move and being in an unfamiliar place, away from your old friends. I don’t know, because you’re not here to tell me. But I want to listen. I want to help you find happiness. I need you to come home and talk to me. I love you so very much. I feel like I might die without you. I truly feel that, when I always thought it was just something people said. It’s not. It’s real. A pain like this, it can
No, stop. End on how much I love her. No guilt trips. End there.
Only I find that I don’t want to.
You might have figured out that I was thinking of divorcing your father. You asked me, and I said no, but you could have seen through
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