Dear Mrs. Quill,
I hope this letter finds you well, or at least as best as you can be, considering everything that has happened. I’m writing you because I just finished playing Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy and it hit completely different than I thought it would. I signed up for a quirky space opera with amazing tunes and antics, where your son, Peter, and his unconventional band of misfit friends would likely screw things up—and eventually save the day—from an evil galactic church, nonetheless. What I got was something much more engaging and heartwarming. It uncovered some repressed emotions, which I’m not sure I appreciate. So, I felt like I should write you, catch up, but also explain why.
I know Peter calls himself Star-Lord now after that band he liked so much, but saying it will never not feel strange to me. He and the Guardians are really making a name for themselves out there. When I watched him jump up into space and grab his Walkman, as some warrior woman named Lady Hellbender rode a dragon behind him with explosions going off in the distance, it was clear that he achieved all of the dreams of ’80s coolness he could ever hope for. I thought that would be the mood throughout the entire story, a lot of space battles, creatures, shooting, and some flashy villains, but then there were more flashbacks—and suddenly I’m reliving the trauma of losing my mother. It makes the game’s promotion feel a bit misleading, don’t you think? They tried to put depth and meaning behind this brightly colored, comic book superhero façade. I’m here to see some typical Marvel fare, not catch any feels or experience personal growth.
I know why these flashbacks are happening. You saw the stress he’s under out there in space. Peter is such a good kid, and his group can’t catch a break, plus now he thinks he might be a father, no wonder he’s daydreaming about his time with you. I’ve always said you were the cool mom that listened to Black Sabbath and encouraged his love of video games, Meredith, and those things clearly stuck with him.
You never met my mother, Louise. She wasn’t like you in most ways, but she embodied almost everything you stood for and especially the love you showed your son. Mom ran as tight of a ship as she could, but she was a widow who worked non-stop at her job, the church, and home. She wasn’t always able to be there, but she still managed to raise multiple kids and was determined to make the moments she did have with us special (unless the Atlanta Braves were playing, that was her time). She made the house we grew up in nearly perfect and welcoming, and even on the worst days of school, that place felt like a haven from the rest of the world. If she had a superpower, it was the ability to make any problem feel like it was never a real concern, as long as we were there together. In a lot of ways, like your son, she was a superhero and now I know where Peter learned that from. You are charming, caring, supportive, and you helped him deal with his bullies as she helped me. We just didn’t have the aliens to worry about like you and Peter did.
Many of the discussions I watched you make with Peter happened with us as well. You and my mom have similar energy, and you both rocked the big hair. I’d attempt to help her with the lingo too, talk to her about Lost in Space, or even try to get her to play Super Mario Bros. more, but there were serious moments too, especially when I was being picked on, getting into fights, and upholding my actions as self-defense. There were times when I’d beg not to go back to school, all because my albinism made me different and a target. I want to think Peter and I would get along, too, as I see that he’s also drawn to defending people and has the same big heart.
I had to laugh at you not wanting Peter to go see that Knight of the Cosmos movie because it was PG-13, even though I know you had deeper reasons for wanting him home then. That was a constant debate in our house, the biggest being my unwillingness to understand why I couldn’t go see Robin Hood: Men in Tights due to ‘suggestive content.’ Mom wanted us to be safe from physical harm, but was just as concerned about our spiritual well-being too.
I also remember solemn talks about my dad. He passed away when I was only a year or so old and my mother tried her best to tell me about him, so I’d know who my father was, but I honestly think she found it hard to talk for too long about him when I was young. I got that same feeling listening to you try and tell Peter about his father and saw the look in your eyes when he didn’t believe you, thinking you were crazy. I know he regrets that now, even if believing it wouldn’t have changed what happened.
It’s your house that brings this all up too. You guys had a beautiful home that reminded me so much of where I grew up. The wood paneling, that landscape art you had hanging up on the walls, and even the baseball on TV. I miss that place so much. I departed the old homestead right after my eighteenth birthday to go to college, and my mother moved out several years later when she got remarried. Looking back, I wish I hadn’t rushed out. I have always had the dream of buying the place, fixing it up, and restoring as much as I could to the way I remember it. Last time I saw it though, the place had fallen into disrepair, and later I heard the military base—or maybe the local airport— someone had purchased the land, most likely sealing the fate of that pipe dream. It’s heartbreaking to think that I can never return to a place that my mind retreats to so often, and as the years pass, those memories are starting to fade more and more. I know it isn’t the same for you now—you’re gone. Those memories are where you exist. In some ways I’m jealous.
I’m not ashamed to admit that Peter’s childhood room in your basement was much cooler than mine. I loved looking around his pad though, because he and I have similar tastes. We both share a love of pen and paper role-playing, books, video games, movie posters, and blasting loud music (since we lived out in the country). We also both had our own private bathroom, which is a huge score! It was fun exploring the rest of your house too, but the kitchen is what caught my eye the most. When my mom was home, a lot of her time was spent in our kitchen cooking or doing paperwork at the large table with the high-backed chairs. The cabinets, curtains, and even the wallpaper were all so close to what I saw growing up that my brain had no choice but to flashback to my own memories of standing in the kitchen and talking to her. Seeing everything together, it was all so close to my own upbringing, each memory was permeating in my brain like a potent smell from the stove. I just wanted to see you guys live your lives and prosper, that’s how at home I felt, but I knew what was coming.
I know you’re proud of Peter for not giving up. In his mind, he’s still trying to save you, trying to protect everyone he can. His whole team has obstacles they have to overcome: Gamora is torn up about what she’s done to her sister, Rocket is facing his fears of death, Drax is forced to kill the memories of his family so he can get over them, and who knows what is actually going on with Groot. Do you? Your boy is trying to keep it all together and everyone on the right path, which isn’t an easy task, but his experiences with you are helping him get through it. I know, because he keeps bringing it up whenever he’s trying to relate to someone.
Everyone knows he carries this pain with him. I’m sure you heard the joke Rocket made about you being dead. In the raccoon’s defense, a friend and I have done that as well. He’d joke about my dead mother, I’d retort about his deceased father. It’s just humor as a coping mechanism, using familiar grief. Don’t hold it against Rocket.
I don’t know if you had to watch yourself die again when Peter relived it. I have to say, that was one thing, but I knew it was coming and the drama and violence was just its own spectacle of a thing. Not saying it didn’t suck, of course, but you went out like a badass and your son was there. I wasn’t around when my mom passed and I’ve always felt horrible about that. I didn’t know Peter was going to talk about you so much. I didn’t hear him use the lessons you taught him, and work with his pain. That was unexpected. Peter’s usually such a goof. You know—you raised him. I had to stop and admit that his acceptance of your death and the way he processed those emotions far surpassed the mental progression I’ve achieved in comparison.
I’m not good with expressing feelings or facing my pain without first pushing everything down as deep as it’ll go. I’m unnecessarily bleak, trying to crack a joke, or losing myself in a project. I’ve been around a lot of death, though, and never quite been able to deal with loss when it happens. Somehow watching this adventure your son went on, exploring his past, pulled everything out into the open. In the end, when I saw Peter lose someone he cared so much about again, that gave me something to consider other than just quipping or looking cool standing next to a sexy green alien and shooting bad guys while The Final Countdown plays. In a way, your son made me look inside myself for a few hours. I had to write you because I can’t reach him out in space. Plus, I knew you’d understand. I wanted to thank you for your part in all this, for being such an amazing mother.
Sincerely,
Stephen Wilds
P.S. Please tell my mom I miss her, I just want to make sure she knows.
About the Author
Writing in the dirty South, recovering internet addict Stephen Wilds wakes up every morning wrestling with nightmares of Silent Hill, Battletoads, and where to put that third comma. Follow him on Twitter @StephenWilds.
