My Dear Ones
I miss you.
I think about you every day. My heart hurts, and I wonder how much your hearts hurt.
Part of why I work so hard to remember, is so that I can remember you.
I hope that wherever you are, you are safe. I don’t know if anywhere out there is safe enough.
I wish I had been able to protect you. I wish that I myself had grown up in a loving society, where all children are nurtured, and no children are bred for profit and gain, or for sex, or for experimentation, or for war, or for sustenance. Where no children are sacrificed—either through their deaths, or through their long and tormented lives.
In such a society, no one would be forced to birth a child into terrible circumstances, into constant pain, into slavery. No child would be told that their mother doesn’t love them, or doesn’t think they’re good enough, or never wanted them, or wishes they hadn’t been born. No child would be called a slave, or a soldier, or a rape baby.
If someone in such a society chose to give birth, it would have no negative or complex global impact. It would not increase the weight and demand on all of the slaves everywhere: the children, the adults, the animals, the plants, the air, the clouds, the satellites, the galaxies….
In a loving society, there would be no slaves.
The word slavery would only be spoken softly, in compassionate remembrance of worlds such as this one.
If I had grown up in such a society, I would have chosen to give birth to you.
I would have felt everything I truly feel for you, except I would never have had to hide it, or to lie about it, or to use my own hands to cause you pain. If I had grown up in such a society, this is not the love letter that I would be writing to you now.
A Letter from Another Space and Time
I would be older, or you would be younger, and I would be writing of your wonderful birth, and of your life, and of all the love we had freely shared. I would say:
When you were a baby, you loved to…
When you were little, you would laugh at…
When you explored, you’d run back and tell me about…
When you smiled, I smiled. When you laughed, I laughed. When you cried, I sat close.
When you thought, I encouraged. When you felt, I understood. When you needed, I provided. When you wanted, I helped you receive.
When you differed, I accepted. When you strove, I supported. When you fell, I knelt. When you grew, I celebrated you.
You were held. You were fed. Your were hugged. You were nestled. You were given peace and quiet. You were taught. You were told the truth. You were sung to. You were always close to me. You always had a warm home. You were always valued. You were always loved.
I have no family photos. I have only my instincts about what my true life has been. It is hard to write to you without the clearest pictures of you nearby, either in my hand or in my mind. The pictures in my mind are a blur. The more I try to remember you, the more my mind can blur.
Someone wanted me to forget about you. But the truth is I could never forget you. I am still holding your hand, and I will not let it go.
If I had grown up in a loving society, I would always have your pictures with me. They would be in my mind, in my heart, and gently painted on sunlit slabs of stone.
I would look up at the sky and see you in the clouds, and you would look up at the clouds and see endless possibility.
I want to show you only my strength, but I must settle on showing you my truth instead. The truth of my mind is that it is fragmented and traumatized. The details of our lives are a blur right now, because I was affected by what happened to me, and by the injuries that were created in me through others’ violence, selfishness, and fear.
But while the details are a blur, my belief in you remains strong and clear. If you ever feel injured or broken, then please know that I see you.
My wish is that every environment you enter welcomes you as you are, and that no demands are placed on you ever again.
If you would like to close your eyes and be in my arms, then I am already holding you. I will shield you from every false belief and violent action that exists. And if I can’t, then I will sit with you until something is over and something new begins.
I would have held you whenever you needed, and whenever you wanted. I would have cradled you and hummed to you, without a constriction in my throat and a pain in my head—the worry that a criminal is scanning my brain for trace evidence of love.
We have been forced to hide everything true within us, and pretend everything false about us. I wish I could explain why. I wish I could stop any remaining pain.
When I feel alone, I find myself wishing that you don’t. When I feel confused, I find myself wishing that you have clarity and stability. When I feel hopeless, I find myself wishing that you are soaring through the sky.
I am here, and you are where you are. This will not be my last love letter to you. I do not understand why others wanted to hurt us, to confuse us, to separate us.
I am glad our spirits are always together, and that they always know.
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