Dear son or daughter,
I am writing this to you because there are things I want to tell you now before I forget. The potential in a life. I close my eyes and try to imagine 25 years from now and all the possibilities of what you could be doing. You could be a tombstone and a statistic. A marine and a politician. A street hustler and a magician. Or simply a college student and a musician. I don’t know.
You could be the leader this world needs so badly. Or a message board junkie like your daddy.
I wonder in 25 could I be a grandfather, or would I have made a mistake so grave that you wouldn’t want to speak to me. Would you have been proud of me.
The joys to be experienced. Teaching you how to ride a bike, and getting upset at you for not doing homework. Me acting just like my parents did to me. Except at the age of 12 you will start your independent study of philosophy. Could we play chess together? Or will you be a wimp and not play because I beat you all the time? I will never let it be easy for you, that way your first victory will be memorable.
Is your name Tomas B. De la Cruz III and truly be The Third like Ender, or would you be Victoria B. De la Cruz and be daddy’s little angel? Yeah right, not with my genes.
I see all the hardships and joys. The hospital calls and scattered toys.
I sadly see me forgetting.
Forgetting that you could’ve existed.
My unborn child I have just participated in murder and your blood lays in my hands. Barely two months conceived and guilt resides within me. Knowing it was best for all parties involved, but I sit back to think about what could’ve been. I just decided to write this letter to tell you some things before I forgot that you existed.
~me
