Dear My Unborn Child

Apollo Fields | Dear Blank | Terrence Huie | Writer | Dear My Unborn Child

“Dear my unborn child,

You weren’t aborted, you just grew in the wrong spot. Like a flower in the concrete. A landscaper with rubber gloves came by and plucked you from the earth, dirt dripping onto the ground the color of crimson. You took some of mommy’s roots with you too. We weren’t sure if we could grow anything anymore.

I remember seeing you in a jar, sealed tight, with a stick of bar code on the front. You were so big. Mom couldn’t understand why we couldn’t take you with us. We wanted to so bad. It was then we decided to give your first name, Emerson, to your older (younger) brother Capa as a middle name. He just turned one.

It’s strange to think that he probably wouldn’t be here if you were. The Butterfly Effect is a pretty name for ‘what if’. What if you were here, buddy?

You’d probably be walking already. I try not to think in hypotheticals for this very reason. They pull you to every point in time but Here. Now. They show you the other colors of the prism and make reality look white. Pale. One-dimensional. Like an empty nursery with dust floating in the light coming in from the window.

The truth is your mother and I have never been into nurseries. We’re still trying to get Capa out of Our bed. Maybe it’s because we want to keep him close, but I think it’s because he feels Right there. With us. We couldn’t imagine throwing him into another room and watching him cry it out—call us what you want.

I guess what I want to say most is that I’m sorry we couldn’t give you a proper burial. It breaks my heart to picture someone scan your body with a thin red light and toss you into a bin. “Hospitals have their rules,” I told your mother, “no matter if it Is your baby, your body.” I just want to put you back into the earth—so you can become a flower.

Always with love,

Your family”