“Mahčawi-áwαssis” is how Mom starts her letters. Unusual child, she began to call me when I was sentenced. “Kosemol”—I love you—was always part of the letters, but it was never the last thing she wrote. She ended each letter with “Aməssanínαkwat.” It is a disgrace. I never knew, and still don’t, what she meant by “it.” Maybe if I hadn’t done what I did to my grandfather (he was dying, for Chrissakes, and he made me believe), if he hadn’t been part of my crimes, her letters would end only with “kosemol.”
I was more sick in the head back then. And if I were eligible for parole, that’s exactly what I’d tell the Maine board.
