I looked for you, my son, at the church where you once played the organ and in the woods where you would spy on fox dens. But you were no where. You were gone. But I kept looking. And I saw you in every child running down the streets, in every beggar making music for money, in my mind's eye when I would sleep. I heard you in the tolling of the forlorn church bells, in the chatter of passing schoolchildren, in my own wretched sobs. I could not forget you.
When I would lie awake in bed, I could hear your anguished cries; my angry screams. Though I had confessed my sins to the Lord, I could not forgive myself for the pain I had caused you. I prayed for you. I prayed you were safe, being the loved and cherished son you ought to have been. The son I ought to have loved.
I think then, that you deserve to know I did not marry Doctor Barye. He was not the man I thought he was. He did not love me and he certainly did not love you. He thought me beautiful and you intriguing. But it would have been folly to build a family on passing fancies. And I did not love him. I loved you. Finally I loved you more than him… more than myself. I came home that night; in the morning you were gone. And in that moment, I cried for you. I loved you so much.
Loved, actually, isn't the correct word. I still love you although I do not know your fate. I'll admit I haven't always loved you—you and I both know that. But now that I do, I shan't stop. But this love I have is perhaps for a memory… perhaps it is for a dream of what might have been between us… It is an enchantment with my gifted and precocious little boy… my little Erik. And there is a gaping hole in my heart because I will never know Erik the man.
Though I shall probably never meet Erik the man, I can deduce certain things about him from what knowledge I possess of Erik the boy and Madeline the woman. I am certain Erik the man is a genius; a curious genius who explores and exploits the world around him, tinkering with things and altering them to suit his needs. Because of this, I am certain you are alive. I am sure he is stubborn, unceasing. I'm sure that it is something he inherited from me. Because my stubborn will drove you away and keeps me from taking my own life, I am sure your perseverance is what keeps driving you now. I am also positive that he still wears the mask. God knows it is my fault he does. God knows your trepidation is my doing. And it probably can never be undone. You are damaged not by physique, but by your own mother!
I often fantasize about impossible reconciliation with you. But I do not know what I would say were I to see you on the street. Would I throw myself at your feet and weep or would I maintain my façade of cruel indifference? That I cannot say. I wish I knew what to do, should the occasion ever arise, but the chances of that are so slim…
If I saw you on the street, I don't know what you would do. I deserve to be cast aside. I raised you in a home without compassion, why should I expect to be shown any? But a part of me wishes you could take me as I am, just as I am ready to take you the way you are.
I want to take you as you are. I want to hug you to me as I should have done when you were born. I want to welcome you to the world and to the light with open arms as I should have done years ago. I want to give you two gifts I've been denying you: kisses. One for now and one to save…