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Up From Here	By : aliciakristine Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Eminem/Marshall Mathers Views: 3454 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Eminem (Marshall Mathers). I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
11.

Dear Rob,

If you're reading this letter, I've passed away.
For that reason and that reason alone, I'm forcing myself to be as honest and
real as I can be. My intention isn't to make you feel guilty or harass you in
any way. I only want to get this off of my chest.

I don't regret marrying you. Marrying you gave me
and Cameron a good life, however temporary it proved to be; marrying you made
me realize how much a person has to rely on themselves for happiness; marrying
you made me grow up in ways that would have taken me decades had I stayed
single. I don't hate you. I know that in the days and weeks immediately
following our separation and divorce, I must have said those three words a
hundred times. But I was only angry and hurt. Can you blame me? I know that
beneath your defensiveness, you can't.

I loved you so, so very much, Rob. When I met
you, I thought you were my ticket out. I thought everything would be milk and
honey, but I think all young women think that when they meet someone older and
richer and more sophisticated than themselves. I had just come out of an awful
relationship, and I wanted something solid and safe. You offered me that, and I
never stopped to think about whether or not we were compatible. I didn't want
to think about it because I knew that it wouldn't last. I'm just a girl from
Detroit and that's all I'll ever be. You were destined for much, much more than
that. I must have known somewhere deep within that I'd be left behind
eventually, and I don't harbor any resentment for that anymore. I know that in
order to be successful, you must exude success, and you just can't do that with
a girl like me. And that isn't self-loathing or a guilt trip. I like being me.
I like who I am, and I like my life. There just wasn't room for me and my life
inside of yours.

The only thing that I'm still upset about, Rob, is that you took Cameron from me. He is the one thing I
had that was mine. Do you understand a mother's love? I
carried him in my body for nine months and against my body for four years. I
never spent a night away from him, never spent a day without him. You were so
busy with your career that I shaped my entire life around him, and I was so
content with that. I don't know if all mothers love their children as deeply as
I love Cameron. It certainly feels too overwhelming and powerful to be normal,
but what do I know? I never had any shining examples. My mom and I were close,
but I know that she didn't love me like a mother should love a daughter. My
mother loved me with every bit of herself, but she didn't love me as a child.
She loved me as another person, a friend, a close relative, but I don't know if
she was capable of thinking of herself as a mother.

That's beside the point, though. I don't want to
ramble, because there's not really much point now. I feel like the bad guy at
the end of a movie, pouring his pitiful aching heart out seconds before FBI agents
swarm in and take him away forever. But have I been bad? I must have, to be
punished like this. I feel like my heart is missing without my son. I think of
him every second of every minute of every day. I dream of him when I'm
sleeping, and I dream of him when I'm awake. When I see a show on television, I
wonder if he's seen it. When a Disney movie comes out, I wonder if you've taken
him and if he liked it. I wonder if he still loves Fruit Roll-Ups, and if he
stills sleeps with his Pooh bear. I wonder if he still has that cowlick, and if
his hair has ever darkened. I wonder what he thinks of me, if he remembers me,
and if he does, what he remembers.

Obviously, if you're getting his letter, I can't
get him back. He is yours forever now, and in my deepest of hearts, I hope that
you give him the life he deserves. Your career is very important and
successful, but don't forget my son. And please, Rob, I beg of you: please
don't poison his mind against me. One of my darkest fears is that you've told
him that I'm an awful person and that he'll grow up hating me. I don't think
I'll ever get my eternal peace if my son hates me. He is yours now, Rob. Please
let me have that little piece of him, just that hazy love in his heart that
he'll have for his dead mother.

I wish you and Penelope the best of luck in all
that you strive to accomplish. I won't bother you anymore.

Tara Allister

Cameron,

Of all the letters I've written today, this one
may be the hardest. Do you remember me? I don't know when you'll read this or
how old you'll be. A very kind man has promised to make sure this reaches you,
but it may not be until long after I'm gone. I wish I could see you one last
time to tell you how very much I love you, darling, but I guess that just isn't
in the cards for us.

When I think of you, I think of our house in
Boston and your toys in the back yard. You had a sandbox shaped like a turtle,
and you would spend hours building castles and tunnels and burying your legs in
the sand. Even in the winter when it was freezing and snowing outside, you
would ask your daddy to clear off your sandbox so you could play. It was frozen
solid most of the time, but you would sit outside with your mittens on and a
beach shovel in your hand, scooping out piles of the frozen sand into your
yellow and green bucket.

You were a beautiful little boy, Cameron. I
remember the way the sun would play in your hair while you played in your sand.
You had the blondest hair. Everyone wonders where you got that blonde hair
from. Your daddy's family is Italian, and there's not a blonde anywhere in my
family that I know of. But there it was on your head, the blondest, silkiest
hair. You get the silkiness from me, but the blonde is a mystery. I wonder if
it's darkened by now. Sometimes that happens, and that would be a shame. You
always looked like a cherub to me, even in your Osh-Kosh
overalls and bare feet.

How can I possibly tell you how much I love you?
I don't think there are words to describe what I feel inside of my heart. You
are the reason I was born. For so many years, I wondered why I was brought into
this world. I didn't have the best childhood, and I didn't think the rest of my
life had much potential. I wondered what my purpose was. To get a stupid
degree, have a stupid job, marry some stupid guy, have a couple of stupid kids,
and die a stupid death? It didn't sound exciting to me, and I wasn't a very
happy person.

But then I met your daddy, and I loved him so
very, very much. We weren't together for very long when I found out I was
pregnant, but by the time I told him that you were coming, we had already made
plans to marry. I don't know if I've ever told anyone that before. Your daddy
was so worried about living absolute perfection that we told our new friends in
Boston that you were married a year longer than we really were. I didn't care.
Nothing mattered but this life I felt unfolding and blossoming inside of me. A
man can never know what it's like to carry a separate life within himself, and if I could wish one thing on you, it would be
that. It's a magical, life-changing, mind-blowing experience. It changed me in
so many ways.

I was a selfish woman, Cameron, until you came
along. I wanted all of your daddy's attention. I wanted nice things, a nice
car, a nice house, stylish clothes, an education at only the best schools, an
important career. I wanted to control every aspect of my life, and until you
came along, that's all I concerned myself with. I wanted the best. I wanted the
best for me. I didn't care about anyone else, I just
cared about myself.

And then I pushed you out of me and the doctor laid
you across my belly. You were slimy and red and wiggling, and you were the most
beautiful thing I'd ever seen. The doctor said I was bleeding too much, that
something was wrong, but I didn't care. I was completely transfixed. You were
perfect. Your tiny feet had five toes each, your hands five fingers. Beneath
the slime on your head, I saw thin wisps of hair. Your eyes were huge and blue
and framed with dark, dark lashes. Your nose was tiny and wide, your mouth
shaped like a porcelain doll's, your ears tiny against
your head. Some babies are born chubby, but not you, darling. You were
absolutely perfect. Your body was strong but small, and I touched every inch of
you. The nurse tried to take you away and I told her, pretty rudely, that
nobody was taking you from me. The doctor told me I needed to be taken care of,
but I didn't care. I didn't care about anyone but you! You
and your absolute perfection.

Your daddy finally convinced me that you would be
fine if they took you long enough to clean you up and make sure you were as
healthy as you looked. The doctors stopped my bleeding and stitched me up and
throughout it all, I thought only of you and whether or not you were okay. I
couldn't get your beautiful little face out of my mind, and even through my pain,
I was the happiest I can ever remember being. I had a son. A
beautiful, perfect, healthy son. Nothing mattered but that. I knew I had
to be fine. I knew I had to be okay. Because I had a son that
needed me.

I'm so sorry that I'm not there to see you grow
up, sweetheart. It breaks my heart to think of missing your first crush, your
first heartbreak, your first date, your first car, your first job, your
graduation from high school and college, your wedding, your children. I don't
know what's waiting for me out there, but hopefully whatever it is will allow
me to peek in on you every now and then. I love you, son. I love you so, so
very much. Please don't ever forget that, darling.

Mom

Marshall,

I don't know what to say to you. You drive me so
crazy sometimes, you make me so mad, you absolutely infuriate me, you annoy the
piss out of me, you do everything you can to make me go insane, but I love you.
I love you more than I knew I was capable of loving a man. It's a crazy,
uncontrollable kind of thing. Every time you make me mad, I just love you more
because you're the only person I've ever known that can get such a reaction out
of me. Every time you kiss me, I love you more because the softness of your
lips is so contrasted against the hardness of you.
Every time you smirk at me through a haze of smoke, I love you more because
throughout everything that has happened to you, you are still the same pothead
Marsh, the same asshole with a lungful of smoke and a heart of gold.

Coming back to Detroit and spending the last few
weeks with you has meant so much to me. I don't know
why you didn't push me away. When I stood on the corner in that phone booth, I
was almost sure you'd hang up the phone or coldly cut me a check. And I would
have accepted it - what other options did I have? But I was so afraid that you
wouldn't give me a chance, that you'd hate me for
leaving you the way I did.

Do you remember the last time we saw each other
before I left for Boston? I felt guilty - guilty, can you believe it? - for agreeing to leave with Rob. Even through all of the
bullshit, I was yours. I guess that has never completely gone away. There's
always been something elastic holding us together. No matter how far apart
we're stretched, we snap back together eventually, don't we? I remember sitting
beside you on that awful scratchy brown-and-mustard sofa, hands trembling so
badly I put them between my knees. Hailie was only a few weeks old then, but
there were pictures of her everywhere. None of them were framed, but there they
were, spread out on tables and stuck in the trim of the wood paneled walls. I
looked at them because I couldn't face you, but then I realized I saw only one
thing in her face. The one thing I did not want to see: your eyes.

Did you know I was pregnant that day, Marshall? I
was three weeks along. I had just found out two days before. I took three
pregnancy tests and went to the health department before I accepted it. I think
that's why I left with Rob. I knew you already had your hands full with Hailie,
and I knew that in your own way, you loved Kim and that you guys would be okay.
And there Rob was, offering me this life in Boston with money and security and
I don't know, respectability. Who cares about being
respectable now that it's 2005 and you're practically a god? Nobody gives a
fuck about respectability when you�ve got more money than 99.999% of the
population, but I did then. I didn't want to be Marshall Mather's
other baby-mama. So I said goodbye and I left.

I think Rob always suspected that Cameron wasn't
his. But he was a good man. He never said anything, and he loved him more than
I thought he would. Maybe that's why he took Cameron from me. Maybe it was my
punishment for living such an awful lie. I tried convincing myself that Cam was
Rob's, but the math just didn't add up. If he was Rob's, it would have been a
close call, and then he was born with blonde hair and blue eyes and your toes.
Your second toe is longer than your first, and so is his. When he was born, I
was obsessed with his toes. It sounds so silly, but it made me feel closer to
you, to have this perfect little cherub baby with toes exactly like yours.

I'm sorry I never told you. When I came back to
Detroit, that's what my intentions were. I was going to let it all hang out.
"Marshall, I need to get custody of Cameron back, and I know you're the
only one that can help me because he's really your son." I was going to
say that, but I choked. I couldn't. I felt as though I'd betrayed you by
keeping him from you all those years, and I know it was the truth. I know that
I owed you so much more, and that you're going to be furious with me for not
saying anything these last few weeks. But how could I ruin something so
perfect, Marshall, knowing that my days were numbered? I know you can do what
needs to be done now, if you so choose. If you decide to fight for him, don't
give him the letter that I wrote him. You can tell him all he needs to know,
and I trust that you won't make him hate me. But if you let him live the life
he knows, please make sure he gets it. I want to give him something to hang on
to.

I love you so, so very much. I'm so sorry,
Marshall. This is my one eternal regret: that we couldn't raise our son
together. He looks like you. I haven't shown you any pictures of him because I
was afraid you'd realize it, but if you look in my Thunderbird, there's a photo
album in the trunk. There are all kinds of pictures of him. He has your lips,
your nose, and your smirk. I don't know how he wound up with your damned smirk,
but he sure did. There are a lot of similarities between the two of you. Rob
must know the truth - either that or his denial is more powerful than I can
realize.

Please don't hate me, Marshall. I wanted to give
my son a life that I could be proud of, and when I left Detroit, neither of us
were capable of doing that. I wanted to protect him as much as I could from the
horrors of poverty and the bad side of town and the arguments and the
cockroaches and the violence. I know that isn't fair to you, but try to think
of my intentions. I promise they weren't malicious. I wanted nothing more than
to tell you that day that I was carrying your baby, but I've never been one for
illusions. I knew we wouldn't marry and buy a little cottage on the lake and
call each other "dear" and "sweetie." That wasn't us. I
think it could have been us now, but we'll never know, will we? I just know
that it couldn't have been us then.

By the time you got famous and rich, things were already
so established that I didn�t want to yank him up out of his life and park him
down in front of you. What if you didn�t want him? What if you wanted him, but
you didn�t want me? How could I live with that? The risk was huge, and I was
too afraid to take it.

Hailie has made me feel so close to Cameron these
last few weeks, Marshall, and for that, I am eternally grateful. They look so
much alike that it hurts, but it's a good sort of hurt. At least I get to see
him in her. The eyes, the nose, the hair, the teeth.
It's all so similar that it's hard to believe they have different mothers. And
Laney, bless her heart, is such a good girl. She's so caring and so talented.
Have you heard her songs? They aren't raps, thank God, but they're amazing when
you take into consideration her age. Both of those girls have a talent, and I
wish I could stand behind them with you as you push them forward. But I know
you're strong enough to do that alone. You were doing it before I popped in and
complicated everything.

I love you, Marshall Bruce Mathers III, and I
will love you until the sun stops shining. Nothing has ever come close to what
I feel for you (except for Cameron, but he is a part of you, so my love for the
two of you isn't separate), and if I die on that operating table, I just want
to go knowing that I've told you just how much you mean to me. I can't imagine
spending my last few days with anyone else, Marsh, and I'm so glad you opened
your home, arms, and heart to me. Thank you.

You made me believe in destiny, Marshall. You
made me believe in fate, in soul mates, in happily-ever-after, in goodness and
happiness and love. What I feel for you has made me a better person, and isn't
that what love is all about?

Yours forever,
Tara
- 10
- 11
- 12
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