A poem. A song. A scream toward heaven. Anything, something. A way for me to communicate the sorrow and shame I feel for the monumental regret of my life.
Dear child, if only I could sacrifice the god of I to the God of Mercy who is blessedly with you, comforting you. To bring you back. On behalf of all those who killed innocence in the womb.
You are my father and you abandoned me. Why?
“You weren’t important. I had other priorities. Hell, you weren’t even a ‘you’.”
But I am, you know. We all are. It’s undeniable.
“That, dear love, was an inconvenient truth that I couldn’t handle.”
I was inconvenient?
“You were responsibility, commitment, disruption, expensive, awkward, burdensome, enslaving. Unwanted things.”
And my mother felt the same way?
“I don’t know what your mother was thinking. I’m only assuming. I barely knew her.”
I don’t understand.