Dear Babies,
I don't know how to start this letter to you. I don't want to be ashamed of you, because I know I would have loved you if you were here. I am ashamed though, and being ashamed makes me feel even worse. I have to tell you how I feel, and hope that these words can reach someone else before she makes the worst decision of her life.
I don't know you, little ones. I never will. I don't know you because I ended our relationship before it began. I killed you, and I can't live with the guilt anymore.
I was stupid, young, and selfish. I tried to make a man happy that couldn't live with the responsibility of you. So I went alone, and told myself that it was for the best. I refused to listen to your heartbeat. I refused to see your body and your face on an ultrasound. I refused to believe that you were real. I knew it though. Just like I knew with all my other pregnancies, I knew you were there. I felt you. I named you. I knew you were a boy, and I knew that you were a girl. I knew you would have blond hair and blue eyes like your father and I. I knew I would love you.
I have no excuse for the way I threw you in the garbage, as if you were trash. I know that you were supposed to live with me, and fight with each other, and spill Cheerios everywhere. I know you were supposed to grow up with me, have me teaching you, holding you, and protecting you. I didn't do that. I made the choice to not be your mother, and it hurts every day.
Now, I have nightmares every night. I dream of your faces – faces I will never see, but faces I dream of nonetheless. I dream of you running up to me, at the ages you would be now, and you calling me Mommy. I dream you are in my arms, and I kill you. I dream I feel you snuggle up behind me as my other children did, and I roll over, and all there are is bloody pieces of you.
I cannot be around my nieces and nephews. I am terrified of them, because they are your age. I feel so guilty knowing them, seeing their love and devotion to me – and they have no idea of the monster that I am. I fear closeness to my own children, that I may harm them someday. The pain I hold close to myself, because I do not want them to be afraid of me. They too, have no idea of the darkness inside me.
I regret everything. I regret losing you both. I want so badly to have you, and of course, I can't. I cannot reconcile myself with my God, my politics, or my family. There is no place of peace within me, and no place that I can share this. There is no sympathy for a woman who refuses to embrace "her right to choose" or a place for a woman who tries to uncross the line after she has. My soul is wracked with guilt.
I torture myself on a weekly basis, when I have privacy to sob aloud and alone. I look at pictures on my phone of children that I have chosen that look like you would, and I whisper the names I gave you, and beg for forgiveness from the rawest part of my soul.
Deservedly, none will be forthcoming. I'll continue my cycle of silent pain until the end of my life, where I am sure I will meet a no less grisly fate than the one I assigned you to.
I still love you, sweet babies. I hope someday that I can be forgiven for what I have done to you.
Love,
The Woman That Doesn't Deserve To Be Your Mother
