I am getting an abortion next Friday. An open letter
to the little life I won't get to meet.
Little Thing:
I can feel you in there. I've got twice the appetite and
half the energy. It breaks my heart that I don't feel the
enchantment that I'm supposed to feel. I am both
sorry and not sorry.
I am sorry that this is goodbye. I'm sad that I'll never
get to meet you. You could have your father's eyes
and my nose and we could make our own traditions,
be a family. But, Little Thing, we will meet again. I
promise that the next time I see that little blue plus,
the next time you are in the same reality as me, I will
be ready for you.
Little Thing, I want you to be happy. More than I want
good things for myself, I want the best things for the
future. That's why I can't be your mother right now. I
am still growing myself. It wouldn't be fair to bring a
new life into a world where I am still haunted by
ghosts of the life I've lived. I want you to have all the
things I didn't have when I was a child. I want you to
be better than I ever was and more magnificent than I
ever could be. I can't do to you what was done to me:
Plant a seed made of love and spontaneity into a
garden, and hope that it will grow on only dreams.
Love and spontaneity are beautiful, but they have
little merit. And while I have plenty of dreams to go
around, dreams are not an effective enough tool for
you to build a better tomorrow. I can't bring you here.
Not like this.
I love you, Little Thing, and I wish the circumstances
were different. I promise I will see you again, and
next time, you can call me Mom.
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