Day Fourteen

Dear Dream Child,

I am writing you this letter knowing you will never exist. I have imagined you so clearly, so often. You have your Daddy's hazel eyes and long eyelashes. You have my mouth. Despite having always wanted a daughter, I usually dream of you as a boy. A little boy who is adored and happy, and who never doubts for a moment he is loved. One time, I dreamt of you... and you'd just been born. You were named Thomas, but we called you Tommy. I held you on our bed and you had your tiny fingers wrapped around one of mine. Your Daddy looked so happy as I passed you to him... but then I woke up, and you were gone. My beautiful son... just a dream.

I knew I might never have you. I don't know how I knew, but I did. Still, when we started to try to make you a reality, I believed. I really, really believed it would happen... that you would be realized. Month after month, I was face to face with the bitter reality of a dream not meant to be for reasons that don't exist.

I do not believe in a god, and I refuse to believe in one cruel enough to get a fourteen year-old girl pregnant when a married 33 year old woman doesn't. I refuse to believe in a god who is malicious enough to give children to junkies and abusers but not to parents who would love them and adore them. Some might say that not having you is my punishment from the god I don't believe in... they can go to the hell I don't believe in.

When I hold the baby I nanny for... when her sweet little smile lights up my day... I think of you. I think of how happy you would've made me. No matter how hard it may have been, I know I'd have been a good mother because I know what it is like to not have that. I know how much it hurts when you feel like your parents don't care about you... like you're not really all that consequential in their lives. I'd never have wanted you to feel that for even a second, and I'd have done all that I could to ensure you never did.

I dreamed of reading you my favorite stories. Peter Pan. Green Eggs & Ham. The one I can never remember the name of about the house that is in the country until the country becomes the city... and the house misses the country and misses being loved... but then is again. When I imagine you as a girl, I dream of sharing the wisdom of Judy Blume with you. I imagine long talks... and tears when your heart first breaks... and joy when you meet the person you will spend your life with. I imagine you dancing with your Daddy on your wedding day. I imagine him scaring the crap out of potential boyfriends and never believing anyone to be good enough for his little girl.

I dream of your hair being like mine... curly and thick. I imagine braiding it for your first day of school. I imagine putting band aids on imaginary wounds... and real ones, too. I imagine panicking when you start to walk and fall down - just as I do when Allie falls down.

I think of the boundaries I'd set, and know that you'd fight them. I know that on some deep level, as frustrating as I'd find that, I'd also admire that quality. I'd admire your independence, and never want to squash it or your dreams.

I imagine your high school and college graduations... though if you didn't want to go to college, and wanted to find another way to live your life, I'd support you in every way I could without trying to make you into who I thought you should become. I'd want you only to be you... and I'd want you to be true to yourself, true to your dreams.

When some of your dreams never came true, and you needed to cry... I'd be there. I know that pain all too well, and I'd hold you and let you rant and cry it out. Or I'd give you the quiet space you needed to work through the pain on your own, and I'd know you well enough to determine which you needed.

I'd help you pick up the pieces and encourage you to find new dreams... because life without dreams is dreary and dull.

Most of all, I'd love you. I'd love you so much... the sweet child I will never hold. I love you anyway, even knowing you'll never be more than a dream.

You've become one of those dreams I know I need to let go of... I can't hold you any longer, but saying goodbye is so hard. You were all I wanted even before I knew your Daddy. You were a dream before he was a reality, but he just made the dream that much sweeter... he helped me see that I could be a good mother, and I saw clearly how amazing he'd be as a father. We'd make mistakes, because all parents do... but we'd own those mistakes and work towards fixing them... and we'd do so together, as a unified front.

I love you... I'm sorry you won't be realized. I will never forget the dream of you... but I have to say goodbye now.

Love,
Mommy