To My Son That Was Never Born
A heartfelt Monologue
(I want to start by saying: to women who actually have miscarriages or other complications out of their control, I am so sorry, and I can’t even imagine how horrible that feels, and I’m in no way comparing that to this. I understand that my decisions led me here.)
Dear Son, no doctor ever told me your gender, but I knew you were a boy. Maybe there were some “signs”, but mostly I just knew. I’m so sorry I did this to you. I’m sorry I took your life before you ever got to live it. You never got a chance to come into this world. I was young and stupid, and I made horrible decisions. It’s not an excuse, but it’s true. I did. My beliefs were very different back then. I thought removing you from my body would fix everything, but it didn’t, not really.
I still think about you all the time. I think about what my life would be like if I hadn’t made this decision, if I’d chosen to keep you instead. I could be raising a 10-year-old right now, a human who relies on me and calls me momma. Someone who looks up to me. Maybe I’d have gotten my shit together for you. Maybe I’d have my driver’s license by now so I can drive you to school. Maybe I’d have more stability and a stable job to provide for you. Maybe you’d make me laugh on my hardest days. Maybe it would be tough at times, but it would’ve all been worth it to see you fast asleep in your bed — something I created.
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I regret my decision every day. At times I’ve even broken down thinking about it. Sometimes I even dream of having you, of how amazing it felt to be around you, and then I wake up remembering it all. Wishing the dream were real, or that I could go back and experience it longer. At twenty-nine, I wonder if it’s too late. I wonder if that was my only chance to conceive, and I blew it. I truly want to have a child, and everything that comes with it. The ups, the downs, all of it. Maybe I didn’t back then, but I didn’t truly understand life then.
I didn’t even know what I wanted. Most of the time, I just wanted to have fun and adventure. All the time, I wonder if you were my only shot, and if my karma for my decision is never getting another chance. As a woman, after you hit 30, there are more dangers of being pregnant as the years go on. Not to mention, your fertility decreases.
I have prayed to God for forgiveness, but I also pray for your forgiveness too. If you’re somewhere in heaven right now, I hope you can forgive me for this. Maybe this sounds silly to some of you. Why am I getting so worked up when you were probably just cells when I did it, not even formed into a life yet? I’ll tell you why. Even if it was just cells, it was cells that could have been a life. A big part of my life.
I had a big argument with my mother then, and it strained our relationship for a while. Honestly, I should’ve listened to her. I just didn’t want to be a single mother, nineteen and pregnant, and pregnant by someone I barely knew… which is shameful in itself. What would I tell you when you asked who your dad was, or how we met? You’d have a mother without a steady job, or even really know who she was. I thought you were better off not coming into this world than having a mother like me.
Now, I want a family, and a boring little life more and more. I want a nice home where I can create a family sort of vibe, something that feels like home. Not what I experienced, but what I want and something that feels better because I want my family and my kids to experience more thanI did. I want them to be excited for the holidays and remember it forever.
I want to pack lunches before school and help with homework after school. I want to cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner, keep the house up, make it feel warm, and make everyone feel comfortable and at peace. I want to sit on the porch with a warm coffee and wave to the neighbors if I’m feeling daring.
I’m sorry I couldn’t give this to you and myself, and I hope you can forgive me. Just know, your life was lost, but never forgotten.
