The Beauty of Life
Okay, Okay, I know I promised the short story finale today, and its coming, but first I have something even more important to post. I wrote this as a speech for my English class, but, obviously, this is it in print form. Imagine, while you read it, somebody talking to you.
Today is the 2016 March For Life in Washington D.C., and, while I can't be there in person, I intend to do my part in writing. I don't usually ask you to share my posts, but, please, if you feel that this post may do some good, please share it!
This is a letter from an unborn child to her mother. The quotes are from Hamlet, but only because of the assignment requirements.(English class, remember?) The final quote about humans being equal is from Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows.
This is a letter. About science. About God and blessings, friends, strolls through the park, heartbreaks and deep breaths, about love, about ice cream sandwiches. About animal cookies and warm bottles; quotes that get stuck in your head, and the anguished looks that come to your face every time the song from that car commercial comes to mind. This letter is about tears, sighs, innocence and laughter. This letter is about life.
This letter is to my mother. It’s to my father, my uncles, aunts, grandparents, and cousins, too. In fact, it's to every human being who will lend me their ears; but, Mommy, I’m looking at you. No, I’m not looking. I can’t do that yet — sight comes later. But for now, hear me out.
When you woke up this morning, did you yawn “as the indifferent children of the earth?” Do you know how cute it is when babies yawn? They can close their mouth more properly than adults, and their cheeks puff out like those of a chipmunk; their warm breath, fresh with the scent of new life, rushes over their mother like a hug from an angel. An angel. Imagine that. And on that breath of wind, the very same breath that you exhale when you first see my helpless frame handed back to you, I’ll utter my first word. Maybe “mom,” maybe “dad” maybe even “Katie did it!” but on that breath of air that you all take for granted, I’ll find the magical beauty of life.
Then, I imagine, after yawning, you stood up and stretched. You moved your muscles, felt the strong, constant earth beneath your feet. Not once did you consider “to be or not to be,” you simply were. Your knee caps helped to hold you up, and, though I’m sure you didn't think of that, I did. Because I don’t have knee caps yet; but I can’t wait until I do. Boy, when I get knee caps, I’ll take my first step, and too soon I’ll be walking, running, leaping! Playing soccer, dancing — just imagine! You could be a soccer mom! I’m sure you look the part.
Next, did you go eat breakfast? Did you take the dog for a walk? Did you feel the life within you, pulsing and filling you with light? Did you get to eat that ice cream sandwich? I think dessert before breakfast is okay sometimes, Mom. And I can’t wait to break the rules with you!
And it won’t just be in the morning, either. We can bring the dog — can I name him Buddy? — to come “along with us to watch the minutes of the night” tick by long after bedtime. We can watch the stars, chase fireflies, splash in puddles and have picnics.
Can we, Mom? Can you and I spend lazy days on a blanket under the old willow tree? I don’t know what kind of blanket — maybe it will have a large image of my favorite book character on it! Maybe even big bird or cookie monster! Maybe it will have red and white checkers on it. Then, while we eat PB&Js, we can laugh, and sing, like they do in the sound of music. You can teach me how to read and write, and, Momma, I’m gonna do it all in a princess dress!
Yes, I know you’ll get tired of that princess dress, but that will be okay, because I will too. And who knows what the next phase will be? Star Wars? Ninjas? Mermaids? No, no, I think I will be obsessed with Panda Bears! They’re not actually bears, but I think that a panda bear would make a nice warm outfit for my first halloween: cute, and practical, too!
Oh, mommy, I’m going to be so cute! I’m going to giggle, that little infant chortle that babies make when their mother’s smile at them. And you will miss that baby chortle when you try to feed me mashed peas but I spit them back up again. Let’s just agree on this now, for the sake of both of us: don’t EVER put mashed peas in front of my mouth. “Yes, by heaven!” If you do I will think of you thus: “O most pernicious woman, O villain, villain, smiling damned villain!”
When I am a teenageer, and you keep me under curfew, I will again bring that quote to mind. You might take away my makeup, or — dare I say it — my phone, but even still I will always love you. Because, when I get my phone back, I’ll turn it on as fast as I can to answer my text, and snapchat my crush, but before any of that, I’ll see my homescreen, and my most treasured selfie from the day we went to the beach and tried on those silly hats and sunglasses. When I look at that picture, I’ll smile and think to myself, “Mom, you're the bomb!”
But I’m getting ahead of myself. You see, I’m not even born yet, and as far as society is concerned, my life matters not. I am a nothing, a silly deed gone wrong. I have no life, no story, and you just don’t want me. Momma, I love you, because when you abort me like a dangerous spy mission, and my body lies lifeless, broken in the wastebin, I know that you will think back on me, and wonder what life could have been.
I wrote this for you, Mommy, because I don’t want you to have to wonder. I have my life all planned out, thank you very much. I’ll have daddy’s eyes, and your smile. I don’t know what either of those look like right now, not yet, anyway, but one day, I’m going to look into your face and see a reflection of my own.
Mommy, If you kill me, murder me in the false safety of your womb, I won't even be mad. Because I know that you love me. And, did you know that God loves me too? When I die, it won't really be dying. Death is the sad thing that leaves behind friends, the tragedy that leaves in its wake expenses and sadness, loose ends and unforgiven wrongs.
If you kill me today, I won’t really die. Death only happens to a body, but, thanks to your decision, my body was never my own. God will send his angels, and they will carry me away. I’ll get to soar like an eagle, and my mother, Mary, will raise me like her own. Mommy, I love you, I trust you, and I forgive you. I am not sad for me, because I truly don’t know what I’m missing. I am helpless, and I couldn’t stop you even if I wanted to, but Mommy, I don’t want to stop you. I just want to make you happy. If this is really what is going to make you happy, then do it. I am safe in someone else's arms.
You, however, are not. You can know pain, know torment and regret. Mommy, I love you, please don’t let me cause you such grief. “Your pain will not be forestalled, ere we come to fall.” Mommy, I’m sad for you. You’ll beg to my soul “forgive me my foul murder,” But momma, I forgive you already.
I may not look like much, but I am a human, you are a human. Long ago, your mother carried you like you carry me. She chose to keep you, and look how you’ve grown. Mommy, even though I don’t know you, you make me proud. I want to save you; “We’re all human, aren’t we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.” but Momma, don’t save me, because I don’t need saving. I want to save you.
Mommy, if you ever wish you hadn’t, then please read this letter. This letter is my life. The slushies I’ll never eat, the sleepovers I’ll never have. The man I’ll never marry, and the jokes we’ll never share. This letter is the ballparks I’ll never scream at, the books I’ll never read, the hugs I’ll never give or receive. The sloppy, handmade gift’s I’ll never give, and the Christmas mornings that will never light up my face and your heart. The smiles that will never greet you in the morning, and the secrets we’ll never share. This letter is the life I’ll never live, but Mommy, please remember. I’ll love you.
Today is the 2016 March For Life in Washington D.C., and, while I can't be there in person, I intend to do my part in writing. I don't usually ask you to share my posts, but, please, if you feel that this post may do some good, please share it!
This is a letter from an unborn child to her mother. The quotes are from Hamlet, but only because of the assignment requirements.(English class, remember?) The final quote about humans being equal is from Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows.
The Life I’ll Never Live
This is a letter. About science. About God and blessings, friends, strolls through the park, heartbreaks and deep breaths, about love, about ice cream sandwiches. About animal cookies and warm bottles; quotes that get stuck in your head, and the anguished looks that come to your face every time the song from that car commercial comes to mind. This letter is about tears, sighs, innocence and laughter. This letter is about life.
This letter is to my mother. It’s to my father, my uncles, aunts, grandparents, and cousins, too. In fact, it's to every human being who will lend me their ears; but, Mommy, I’m looking at you. No, I’m not looking. I can’t do that yet — sight comes later. But for now, hear me out.
When you woke up this morning, did you yawn “as the indifferent children of the earth?” Do you know how cute it is when babies yawn? They can close their mouth more properly than adults, and their cheeks puff out like those of a chipmunk; their warm breath, fresh with the scent of new life, rushes over their mother like a hug from an angel. An angel. Imagine that. And on that breath of wind, the very same breath that you exhale when you first see my helpless frame handed back to you, I’ll utter my first word. Maybe “mom,” maybe “dad” maybe even “Katie did it!” but on that breath of air that you all take for granted, I’ll find the magical beauty of life.
Then, I imagine, after yawning, you stood up and stretched. You moved your muscles, felt the strong, constant earth beneath your feet. Not once did you consider “to be or not to be,” you simply were. Your knee caps helped to hold you up, and, though I’m sure you didn't think of that, I did. Because I don’t have knee caps yet; but I can’t wait until I do. Boy, when I get knee caps, I’ll take my first step, and too soon I’ll be walking, running, leaping! Playing soccer, dancing — just imagine! You could be a soccer mom! I’m sure you look the part.
Next, did you go eat breakfast? Did you take the dog for a walk? Did you feel the life within you, pulsing and filling you with light? Did you get to eat that ice cream sandwich? I think dessert before breakfast is okay sometimes, Mom. And I can’t wait to break the rules with you!
And it won’t just be in the morning, either. We can bring the dog — can I name him Buddy? — to come “along with us to watch the minutes of the night” tick by long after bedtime. We can watch the stars, chase fireflies, splash in puddles and have picnics.
Can we, Mom? Can you and I spend lazy days on a blanket under the old willow tree? I don’t know what kind of blanket — maybe it will have a large image of my favorite book character on it! Maybe even big bird or cookie monster! Maybe it will have red and white checkers on it. Then, while we eat PB&Js, we can laugh, and sing, like they do in the sound of music. You can teach me how to read and write, and, Momma, I’m gonna do it all in a princess dress!
Yes, I know you’ll get tired of that princess dress, but that will be okay, because I will too. And who knows what the next phase will be? Star Wars? Ninjas? Mermaids? No, no, I think I will be obsessed with Panda Bears! They’re not actually bears, but I think that a panda bear would make a nice warm outfit for my first halloween: cute, and practical, too!
Oh, mommy, I’m going to be so cute! I’m going to giggle, that little infant chortle that babies make when their mother’s smile at them. And you will miss that baby chortle when you try to feed me mashed peas but I spit them back up again. Let’s just agree on this now, for the sake of both of us: don’t EVER put mashed peas in front of my mouth. “Yes, by heaven!” If you do I will think of you thus: “O most pernicious woman, O villain, villain, smiling damned villain!”
When I am a teenageer, and you keep me under curfew, I will again bring that quote to mind. You might take away my makeup, or — dare I say it — my phone, but even still I will always love you. Because, when I get my phone back, I’ll turn it on as fast as I can to answer my text, and snapchat my crush, but before any of that, I’ll see my homescreen, and my most treasured selfie from the day we went to the beach and tried on those silly hats and sunglasses. When I look at that picture, I’ll smile and think to myself, “Mom, you're the bomb!”
But I’m getting ahead of myself. You see, I’m not even born yet, and as far as society is concerned, my life matters not. I am a nothing, a silly deed gone wrong. I have no life, no story, and you just don’t want me. Momma, I love you, because when you abort me like a dangerous spy mission, and my body lies lifeless, broken in the wastebin, I know that you will think back on me, and wonder what life could have been.
I wrote this for you, Mommy, because I don’t want you to have to wonder. I have my life all planned out, thank you very much. I’ll have daddy’s eyes, and your smile. I don’t know what either of those look like right now, not yet, anyway, but one day, I’m going to look into your face and see a reflection of my own.
Mommy, If you kill me, murder me in the false safety of your womb, I won't even be mad. Because I know that you love me. And, did you know that God loves me too? When I die, it won't really be dying. Death is the sad thing that leaves behind friends, the tragedy that leaves in its wake expenses and sadness, loose ends and unforgiven wrongs.
If you kill me today, I won’t really die. Death only happens to a body, but, thanks to your decision, my body was never my own. God will send his angels, and they will carry me away. I’ll get to soar like an eagle, and my mother, Mary, will raise me like her own. Mommy, I love you, I trust you, and I forgive you. I am not sad for me, because I truly don’t know what I’m missing. I am helpless, and I couldn’t stop you even if I wanted to, but Mommy, I don’t want to stop you. I just want to make you happy. If this is really what is going to make you happy, then do it. I am safe in someone else's arms.
You, however, are not. You can know pain, know torment and regret. Mommy, I love you, please don’t let me cause you such grief. “Your pain will not be forestalled, ere we come to fall.” Mommy, I’m sad for you. You’ll beg to my soul “forgive me my foul murder,” But momma, I forgive you already.
I may not look like much, but I am a human, you are a human. Long ago, your mother carried you like you carry me. She chose to keep you, and look how you’ve grown. Mommy, even though I don’t know you, you make me proud. I want to save you; “We’re all human, aren’t we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.” but Momma, don’t save me, because I don’t need saving. I want to save you.
Mommy, if you ever wish you hadn’t, then please read this letter. This letter is my life. The slushies I’ll never eat, the sleepovers I’ll never have. The man I’ll never marry, and the jokes we’ll never share. This letter is the ballparks I’ll never scream at, the books I’ll never read, the hugs I’ll never give or receive. The sloppy, handmade gift’s I’ll never give, and the Christmas mornings that will never light up my face and your heart. The smiles that will never greet you in the morning, and the secrets we’ll never share. This letter is the life I’ll never live, but Mommy, please remember. I’ll love you.
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| Every Human life is worth the same. If a child's life is worth nothing, then what is the value of yours? Your family's? |
Emma - this is incredibly powerful and beautiful. You are wiser than your years would have us believe. I attended the March for Life once, when I was in college. It was an incredibly powerful experience seeing so many people stand up for what is right. Keep standing up for what is right, especially for those that have no voice!
ReplyDeleteThank you for your encouragment! I hope that I will one day be able to attend the March for Life, too, but until then I'm glad to participate with writing.
DeletePowerful writing, Emma! So good!
ReplyDeleteThanks! I hope my English teacher agrees...
DeleteHe didn't think so. :(
Delete