Welcome to the second project on obafuntaydotcom, The Letter to my unborn child project. If you missed the preview, you can view it here, just so you have an idea what we are up to, as much as the project title, speaks for itself.
Ever thought of writing a letter? Better still, a letter to your unborn child?
What would you name him/her? Why not give your unborn child a name now and write him/her a letter? Yes! Right now! Doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me.
What do you think?
Today, we’d be reading Temi’s letter.
Hang in there.
At the time you’re reading this letter, two things are certain. I am dead, and you are thirteen years young. If nothing else, I’d like you to know two things. I love you and, I’m so, very sorry.
Sorry that I can’t be there to hold you when you cry, or pick you up when you are stumbling, guide you against my bad choices. Sorry that I would not be able to share your comfort food and watch a sappy romance movie as you sob into my bosom after your first breakup. Sorry that I would never be able to be content just to be filled with love at a look, a touch, a smile from you. Sorry that I would never be able to tuck you in at night, or read you a bedtime story, watching your eyelids flutter close as your dreams run in meanders over your face. Sorry that I won’t be able to hear you sleep-talk, or hold you through the tumultuous nights filled with boogeymen and monsters.
Sorry that I would never be able to attend your PTA meetings, or watch you learn to play your first musical instrument, or attend your first ballet recital. Sorry that I would never get to hold your hand as we cross the street until you tell me you can do it on your own. Sorry that I would never be able to fall in love with you in different ways all over again day after day. Sorry that I couldn’t watch you smile and laugh. Sorry that I couldn’t watch you learn to talk and walk, and sneak from our house to your first boyfriend’s arms. Sorry that I couldn’t be in on your itty bitty secrets, and share your big dreams, using your ceiling as a billboard. Sorry that I couldn’t watch you grow into the beautiful young woman I’m certain you have become. Sorry that Death’s grip was stronger than my will. Sorry that I could never whisper ‘I love you’ and nibble on your ears as we had a good ole’ laugh. Sorry that sorry is but a word, quickly uttered and in itself grossly inadequate.
It hurts more than anything else that I can’t be, but sorry.
Tiwa. Dear Tiwa. Tiwaloreoluwa. God’s gift is ours. You are God’s gift to me.
That grey day, when the doctor told me of the placenta previa that riddled my innards and asked me to choose between life and you, I knew. I knew you were my choice, without thinking. You rescued my mind and my heart when you came into my body, my baby. When I discovered that day that I could carry you for months, I resolved that my last months, no matter how difficult, would be spent loving you, preparing for you, sacrificing for you. I’d rather bring you into the world, than remove you from my womb, I told your father, as his eyes glistened with tears. I prayed in the corner of my room that night, and many others after it, and I never felt more convinced of anything else in my entire life. You are the last note to the symphony that is my life.
You, my darling, are the baton that I carried in the last lap in my life’s relay and while I dread this inevitable day of The Reaper’s death call, I am grateful to God, in His infinite mercies, for deeming me worthy as a vessel to bear you into this un-beseeming world on that same day. I am comforted with the idea of carrying you for the next eight months, and holding you in my arms, looking at your adorable, twinkly little eyes, as my life’s journey ends. I hope your father teaches you to be you, as he showed me who I am.
I hope he lets you realize who you are. I hope you love the things that I do. I hope you love to live, laugh and sing and dance. Talk and chortle all at once. Books and meaningful music. Guzzling up the words and lyrics as your soul becomes over-fed. Ice cream, coffee and stuffed animals. Soothing all hurt, and sealing gaping holes. I hope that you live a life as God wants you to. I hope and pray to God that you find Him, and seek Him forever more. Seek honesty, love, joy and integrity; for in these you find truth and wholesomeness. I hope you remember always that no matter what, you’re a beautiful person. You are light, and light cannot be hidden. I hope you remember that your power can supersede any and every block placed in your path to fulfillment. I hope you don’t make my mistakes.
Respect your father. He’s inexplicably strong, and his love for you can be seconded to none. Love him, and take care of him. Complement his shortcomings, and don’t let him drown in misery, as he tends to. And if he marries again, as I have asked him to; respect his wife and take care of her. These would be your parents, your anchors.
Family is key. Honor them, keep them close, and don’t ever let anyone (even you) take advantage of them. They are your prized jewels, your world. Love them, and never let go. They will always love you, no matter what you do, or what happens in this whirlpool called life. I pray my friends and siblings become your family, and that they teach you the virtues I’d have loved to instill in you.
You see, baby girl, life can be like a song. Whereby things start off slowly and gently, in low notes, and then there’s a bridge of hollow happenings, and suddenly, there is an increase in tempo; a crescendo of events for good, and an explosion into beautiful melodies until they fade off into nothingness.
Your life, just like mine or anybody else’s is not going to be filled with only joy and rainbows. There would be harsh storms, my darling, and I pray to God that you learn the source of your strength early, and the ability to draw from it. So be strong. No one but yourself can make you unable to do something. When Life throws you hardened balls of hurt and hurls bitter bile of unkindness at you, stare her with all indignation flashing in your eyes, and rise beyond it, like a phoenix from darkened ashes. Strive for perfection. Never settle for mediocrity. You, my love, are the spawn of greatness. The blood that runs in your veins are not of mere men. Read far and wide. Broaden your horizon, and dream. Don’t ever stop dreaming.
Love wholeheartedly. Give all and expect nothing in return. Remember to love God first, for He keeps you in health and peace, and love others, for they are human and represent God here on earth, albeit their insufficient cage of flesh. Respect everyone around you, and learn to sacrifice; be it your time, words, or money for the betterment of another’s’ day or life. Employ courtesy and class, for without them, one cannot be called a woman. When heartbreak befalls you my sweetheart, break and build. Leave no cracks un-smoothed. Be it a boy or death, life would not always be fair. Find closure in your closet. Don’t let disappointments deter you from actualizing your dreams. Pain is addictive. Do not drown yourself in your own tears.
Build long-lasting, and symbiotic friendships and relationships. Learn from these people. Grow with them by your side. Never forget that people will fail you, be hypocritical, and try to hurt you; but don’t fail anybody. Stand by your word. Take them along in your journey. Grow into your own. Don’t let anybody push you down. I embodied strength, bordering on stubbornness. My obstinate nature in you must be put into good use. Do not let anyone – be it man, woman, friend or even husband dictate to you what is best for you. They may correct, contribute, or support, but never ever dictate to you.
Muliebrity entails brains, brawn and beauty. I pray you find that you find that these do not relate solely to the physical sense. They are innate in you, you just need to reach into it.
Make the verses of Proverbs 31 of the Bible your mantras, baby. They constitute a manual for womanhood.
Look within, find peace.
Be aware of the beauty you radiate. Bubble with mirth.
Never forget, everything I do, I do it for you.
You my love, are my light and life.
I love you, with every fiber of my being and every certainty of my existence.
• • •
A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?
You can send in your own written letters to firstname.lastname@example.org
N.B. The project goes on Monday, with @Delia_Maraj‘s letter.
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