A Letter of Resignation From Motherhood

Dear prospective soul child,

I regret to inform you that I’m resigning from my position as your prospective mother effective May 11.

Thank you for the waffle fries and salt and vinegar chip cravings that you have provided me the past two months. They tasted the best during than they’ve ever tasted. One of many peculiar symptoms that allows souls to visit earth after 72 moon phases. You gave me the experience of being an almost mother, someone I never imagined myself being. That was an interesting journey despite the shortness and the forceful circumstances you washed ashore.

A soul has not yet been blown into you, yet my own has felt a breeze. The brush of the angel assigned to my womb. You are waiting to enter on its breath for 24 moon phases. It has only been 13.

I understand this sudden resignation may cause some inconvenience, your soul will have to wait a little longer with the angel before finding an appropriate life form. I apologize for the disruption and delay this will cause your corporeal existence. Due to my own less than ideal existence, I must step down from this position as soon as possible.

You deserve better.

I feel guilty whether or not I keep you. I have a genetic disorder that gives me the joints of a ballet dancer, but not the skills. I would feel guilty bringing you into a world I often wish I was not brought into.

I washed ashore to an emotionally unprepared and impoverished mother, just three years older than I am now, not yet healed from her own trauma. I witnessed her go from a man who beat on women to a man who beat children.

I am self aware enough to know that I am not healed from my trauma yet.

My body is falling apart, and my mind has already broken, but I will not leave you without tips as I am committed to making this transition as seamless as possible.

Find more mature parents.

Find someone who’s father won’t threaten to sell and risk jail if I brought you into this world, to support us both.

Parents with sturdier minds and a mother with a less battered heart, and a less shattered soul that doesn’t leak as much.

Sometimes I fear it would have drowned us both since I struggle to swim.

Ideally, Inhabit a world where capitalism, poverty and wars don’t exist or are scarce.

A world where life and death are not paywalled and where you’ll see more trees than ads.

Find another galaxy and a species better than humans, ones that live harmoniously with their surroundings instead of slowly destroying their home planet and themselves.

I appreciate your support and understanding. I wish you the very best. I failed to carry you underneath my heart but I continue to carry the ghost of your existence within it, heavy with alternative worlds and prismatic scenes of what we both could have been.

I look forward to staying in touch. Visit me in my dreams where endless possibilities exist, universes and timelines collide, birthing new worlds where our souls can connect, long after yours has left the angel’s breath.

Sincerely,

Your past prospective mother

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On May 11, your shell was removed from my shores and my eyes were met with sterile fluorescent lights instead of the sun, I felt a breeze at the perimeter of my existence. Was it the angel flying away to find another viable womb to breathe you into? I hope it heard my pleas.

I’ve lost two children; the healthy, un-traumatized child I could have been, and now you.

The prospective existence of you.

The idea of what you could have been and the idea of what I could have been shimmers in the colorful winds of my imagination. They both dance around each other like twirling fall leaves, twisting and fluttering, glittering with piercing sunlight and shimmering shadows of possibility, illuminating emerald and ruby veins that look like the lines on palms representing life and the many ways it could branch off into different endings.

I imagine that’s what your tiny palms would have looked like. I imagine it would have felt as soft as the gentle kiss of the autumn leaves on a sunset ground. As soft as the velvet skin on my knuckles that I rub to soothe myself when overstimulated. The same way I would have rubbed your small back to soothe you when you cried.

I wonder if you’d have been autistic like me. Who you would have looked like. Would you have inherited my dimples and terrible eyesight? Your daddy’s sharp jawline and gangling height?

Would you have liked the waffle fries and salt and vinegar chips you had me crave later in life?