(Brought to you by Legend, these letters start at the final 8 and continue from there!)
Dear Owen,
How are you? The nurses say you’ll be back soon. They said if I was feeling up to it I should write you a letter. They don’t say it, but it’s in their eyes. They pity me. And it...it’s so disjointing that I don’t know why. It’s like I’m a double leg amputee victim or something. I know I haven’t been...all there, lately. But I’m not a decrepit old biddy yet! So there’s no need to worry about me.
All you need to worry about is your grades! Not that I’m worried there. I’m so proud of how hard you work in your classes! To tell you the truth, I never pulled an A in Biology--pretty far from it, actually. So if your grades aren’t all As, please don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re already doing way better than I ever did, so just try your best!
Weren’t you telling me about the play you got a role in? You really need to tell me when the performance is so I can call off work, I would love to come! It’s Shakespeare, isn’t it? Hamlet? No...it was one of the funny ones. Much Ado About Nothing? You were so excited about it! You don’t smile much these days, I worry about you sometimes. You know you can tell me anything, right? I want to always be there for you. It’s just the two of us after all. Even if it’s about a girl or something--or boy! You know I’d accept you no matter what, sweetheart. But if they toy with my darling son’s heart--ooh! Am I going to have some strong words for them. Don’t let anyone tug you around. Especially if they try to isolate you. Pieces of work like that are only going to chew you up and spit you out.
Guess I’m kindof nagging, huh? I can already imagine you going “Ugh, mooom.”
I hope you’re back soon! I miss you!
XOXO,
Mom
Dear son---
I’m so sorry, even with this treatment I’ve been forgetting your name here and there. I’m an awful parent. I’m too ashamed to ask the nurse. What kind of parent am I to forget her only son--no, her only family’s name?
Hold on. I’m going to ask the nurse. I’m not going to get better if I don’t ask when I don’t know. And I have to get better before you come back.
He said your name is Owen. And that you’re in the Hunger Games right now. I can’t believe it.
You didn’t take tesserae, did you? I told you, we’d find a way somehow without it. But...I can’t remember very well. I’m sorry. I feel like it’s my fault somehow.
But now I feel even more motivated to get better for you! I know just how hard you must be working to get home. So I need to do the same. I miss you so much, sweetheart.
It’s so hard to make ends meet. I wish you’d contact me soon like you said you would. Supporting Owen on my own is harder than I thought it would be. No one wants a fat stripper. And there were some complications after Owen was born, so I don’t think I can even go back to work for another month if I listen to the doctor’s orders. Please, call me when you can.
I...who was I writing this to? Shit. I did it again. I’m sorry Owen.
I just got back from therapy. I wanted to scrap this letter, but she said I should keep it to see how far I’ve come later. I’m not sure I believe her, but it doesn’t hurt to try.
Sincerely,
Mom
Owen---
I feel like for the first time in a long time, time is moving forward. At some point it stopped feeling like that and it all blended together like it happened all at the same time. Like I haven’t been sick, for years.
You came by to visit today. I was so happy! I haven’t been able to see you since before I started this new treatment. You reminded me it’s because you were in the Hunger Games...how could I keep forgetting something like that? My heart dropped through my stomach when you said that.
You looked so sad today. I hope I didn’t disappoint you. To go through the Games just to come back to me? Who can’t remember what year it is? I think I’d look just as sad as you did.
I heard the doctors tell you I might not ever go back to normal. And that it might be for the best. I’m writing it down before I can forget. The doctors wouldn’t say that unless there was a good reason right? Did something happen to me? You still had all your fingers and toes…
Maybe you just had a rough time in the Games. You’ve really grown your hair out, and you look so very tired. I can’t imagine how much it must weigh on you. I want to be there for you so badly, sweetheart. I know what the doctors said...I think...but I’m going to keep trying to get better. My therapist said I’m making great progress! And if I get better, maybe this treatment will work for others, too. I just want to go home, Owen. I want to walk in the door, scoop up Pandy, make up a cup of tea, and sleep in my own bed.
You want to go home together too, don’t you sweetheart? When I suggested it, you looked even more worried. They’ll only let me go home if I can take care of myself, so I won’t be weighing you down if that’s what you’re worried about. You can live your life however you please and I’ll support you!
I hope you stop by again soon!
Love you,
Mom
Owen---
You haven’t been by in a few weeks, so I thought I’d write you.
Slowly, I’m starting to realize the fog I was in. I don’t forget your name anymore, or confuse you with your father. Sometimes I forget when I am, but I wrote myself a reminder:
“Owen was in the Hunger Games. I am in a Capitol hospital thanks to him.”
I remember the reminders you put all around the apartment, in all caps. I’m so sorry, Owen.
It’s all my fault. I didn’t think it was important---I thought if I told them I was a sex worker they could arrest me for prostitution and take you away. I couldn’t bear it. But if I did...even if that happened...you would have had a better life than squeezing out every penny caring for me. You would have been better off letting me die and going into the foster system. I’m so sorry Owen. I ruined your life. You gave up everything for me. I couldn’t ask for a better, more kind, more selfless son.
But the burden falls on me. Don’t blame yourself, don’t feel bad, and don’t you dare feel like you didn’t do enough. You kept your sorry excuse for a mother alive all these years. How did you do our taxes? How did you get to school? How did you get the money? I don’t know. I’m mortified I don’t know. I failed you in every way that mattered.
Apparently the nurses read these. They moved me to a different unit because of “suicidal ideations.” But it’s a fact that I was more of a burden than a child should ever bear. It wasn’t fair, and I will never stop being sorry, Owen. That guilt will stay with me for the rest of my life. It’s so strong I don’t think I can forget it.
I don’t want to forget anymore. I’m so scared of forgetting. I just want to move forward. So I can be there for you now. Nothing I do now will make up for the past, but I want to be there for you now. I won’t be a burden anymore. And you know me. Once I get it in my head, I’m too stubborn to give up until I do it.
Love you sweetheart,
Mom
Dear Owen,
I’ve been addressing all these letters to you, but you haven’t been the one visiting me, have you? Today we went for a walk in the gardens. We didn’t talk much until you sat down across from me on the benches by the hyacinth bushes.
You said, “I’m not really your son Ms. O’Connor. My name is Ceru. I am deaf. And I knew your son in the Hunger Games.”
I couldn’t even recognize my own son.
“Hey don’t cry,” you said panicking. “He told me about your condition, it’s okay.” My son is dead. He died months ago and I didn’t even know. Wasn’t the Games compulsory viewing?
I forgot my own son died. It didn’t even feel real.
How could I forget something so important? Owen.
“It’s not okay,” I coughed, choking back sobs. I had no one left. What did I have?
I barely even had my memories of him. You, absolutely beaming as you pulled Pandy out of your tophat. Asking me to pick a card and miraculously pull it out of the deck. You were so proud of yourself.
You and I going up the river past the main dam. You tried catching a crayfish with your bare hands and found out they can be rather pinchy. You settled on bringing back a clam shell instead. It’s still on your dresser. If the apartment isn’t gone by now.
The first night you came back after your first play performance. I couldn’t make it because of work, but you were so exhilarated, so excited that you talked my ear off a mile a minute telling me how it went. At midnight! You had never stayed up so late. I introduced you to coffee the next morning. You hated it, but were bouncing off the walls.
Not you-him. Goddamnit. Owen is gone. Everything I...even now, it hurts just as much as when you told me earlier today. It’s going to feel like this for a very long time. Just when I started to feel like a whole person again, the rug’s been pulled out from under me.
“You’re a good kid, listening to an old lady cry like this,” I said after I ran out of tears. It was too soon. Why couldn’t I cry more?
“You’re not old, Ms. O’Connor,” you said awkwardly.
“Please call me Linn,” I sniffled, “If I’m not old, Ms. O’Connor makes me feel really old.”
“Alright,” you shifted around nervously. “Um...if you’d like, I can tell you about Owen.”
“I don’t think I could hear that today. But I would like that very much.” Anything to fill the gaps. Even if Owen...even if Owen did terrible things in the arena. He’s still my son. Was. My son.
Owen.
I asked you to lead me back to my room. I had to write this down before I could forget. I have to.
I have to. I have to.
I’m never going to get the chance to make things right with you, Owen.
I was a burden to very end.
I can’t believe you’re gone.
Dear Owen---
It’s been one year since you died.
I still live at the Capitol hospital. Thanks to your sponsor donors, I can afford to. I haven’t been to your grave yet. I don’t think I’m strong enough yet.
They’ve moved me to assisted living. A nurse stays with me half the day and stops by in the morning and evening. I’m taking things each day at a time.
I miss you so much. So much it hurts. It hurts and hurts and hurts and it’s what keeps me grounded in the present. It’s a blessing and a curse. I wish I didn’t know some days.
I still haven’t watched your games. I’ve seen the pre-Games content. Between what I’ve seen and what Ceru has told me, you realized Rammie was using you just a little too late. If she won, I would have murdered her the moment I saw her. Ceru told me she got what she deserved.
I’m so glad you allied with such a kind person, but it’s hard knowing just how slim a margin it was that you could have been here instead of him. And Ceru is no replacement for you by any means, but his visiting helps the loneliness, just a little. I don’t understand why he keeps coming back but I’d be awfully sad if he stopped. In a few weeks, Ceru is going to help me choose a cat to adopt. He’s been teaching me sign, too. I’m absolutely terrible at it. Ceru thinks my mistakes are hilarious. I’m trying my best, but my memory just isn’t there some days.
I’m trying so hard, Owen. I’m not deluding myself I’m living for you--you’re gone, nothing can change that, and I’m still here. You gave me a second chance I didn’t deserve. So once I’m better, the doctors think with time and a service animal I could go back to living on my own next year.
There’s no way I could go back to school like this, or do anything but minimum wage jobs, but I”ll find a way to keep going. Every time I think about giving up, I remember flashes of those days you worked to the bone to take care of me. How did you find the strength?
I guess it’ll be a long time before I can ask you, huh?
I’ll find a way forward, sweetheart. You don’t need to worry about me anymore up there. Just rest.
You’ve done enough. I couldn’t be prouder of you and the person you became.
I love you so much, Owen.
Mom
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