What I Missed : A Letter from “Randy”
Dear World,
I couldn’t quite understand all the words. The sound was muffled, but I picked up a few things. I heard a pleasant voice say, “Welcome,” and I figured out some instructions about filling out some paperwork. I knew I would have to wait for a few minutes, but I could not figure out what we were waiting for.
It was hard to hear everything where I was. It was warm, and I was always taken care of, but sounds are garbled inside a mother’s tummy.
Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. My name was supposed to be Randy. At least, I heard that name sometimes and I liked it, so I like to think that would have been my name. I’m pretty sure it was my daddy’s name. I like that!
Through my short time in my mommy’s tummy, I got glimpses of things that would have been great to do. I couldn’t understand everything, but I heard people talk about walking, riding bicycles, and going on trips. Just blowing bubbles in the sunshine would have made my day, or so I would like to think.
My mom sounded like a nice lady. I pictured her that way. I could imagine her smile and her hugs. While I never knew what she looked like, I just knew she was a pretty lady. Isn’t every mother beautiful?
Anyway, back to my story. We waited for a few minutes and then we moved. I never really had any say in the matter. When mommy moved, I went with her. It was just the way things were. I loved my warm place inside mommy’s tummy, and didn’t mind going wherever she went (except the dentist…neither one of us seemed to like that place).
This time, though, something wasn’t right. I could hear my mommy crying a little. She seemed upset, but the other lady in the room calmed her down. I did not understand every word, but they were saying something about a “procedure,” and about mommy’s “right to choose.”
Then, the other lady leaned right into mommy’s ear, so I could hear, too. I heard her say, “Don’t worry, in a few minutes, you’ll be right back to normal and able to go on with your life the way you want it.”
Those words made me miss so much. I will never take that walk in the sunshine. I will never learn to ride a bike or swim. I will never feel my mother’s hugs. I will never blow bubbles in the sunshine or make smores at a bonfire. I will never climb on a trail or catch a butterfly. I will never work hard to pass a test. I will never ask a girl on a date. I won’t know the feeling of marriage, the joy of the sexual union, or the bliss of becoming a father.
You see, I missed all that because my mother killed me.
And because of your leaders, you helped pay for it.
Sincerely,
“Randy”
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AUTHOR: Adam Faughn
Photo background credit: The National Guard on Creative Commons
