Baby Dolls Aren't Always Comparable

Dear Artemis,

When I was a child, we all dreamt of the day we would grow up. Get married. Have children of our own.

We carried baby dolls, so when we were mothers we were prepared. We would be great mothers! Wouldn’t we?

As I grew older, we learned a lot more about the role we were supposed to play in society as women. Get married to a guy, not because of their actual core values, but rather for their monetary value. If you can get the CEO’s son to notice you, great job! Have a million babies and become a meek little housewife.

But around the same time, I found Greek mythology. The stories of heroes and gods were so enchanting, I found myself wanting to go back in time. Of course, women had even less rights back then. Women weren’t even allowed to go to the agora, or the marketplace.

I frequently got lost in daydreams of hunting with a bow and arrow in the woods. Being the child of someone important, instead of the child of an absentee father and a woman who worked three jobs to provide for the two of us.

My grades started to dip. B pluses turned to D’s and F’s. I was a failure. The only thing I was good at was reading.

I started working at age fourteen. Whatever could bring in money for me and my mother. McDonald's cashier, singing at local restaurants, anything that would take a fourteen year old in to work.

It turned out that I was actually a good singer. An agent, Mr. O’Leary, heard me singing one night.

“Luna, you have the voice of an angel.”

He offered to find me a vocal coach, and when I refrained, he told me money didn’t matter. He would personally pay for it if he had to.

I was so touched by his kindness, I accepted his offer.

After many months of learning in between jobs, I took to the stage to sing again, and this time an agent for many of music’s biggest stars was in the audience. He confronted me as I was leaving, and said my voice was great.

I thanked him and attempted to get on my way. I had a job to be at in fifteen minutes. 

He grabbed my shoulders. “Luna, do you understand what I’m saying? Fame! Fortune! It could all be yours. You could leave this behind!” He waved his hand around the restaurant. “You could be famous!”

As a girl who was nothing, who came from nothing, I caved into temptation. Before I knew it, I was at a recording studio, performing songs.

I wasn’t Luna Grey, small town nobody anymore. I was Luna Grey, superstar. I didn’t know who this new me was. But the public, my fans liked it, so I kept it. Everyday, I would put on makeup and delve into a world that was so bright and colorful it left my head spinning.

Then my mom died. I had left her, and she drank herself to death. 

I will never be able to forget this. I will never be able to live this down.

I rushed back to my small town for her funeral. 

After, I really wasn’t the same.

My childhood was touring the country, singing. More than ever, I wanted to escape into the world of Greek mythology.

Three years later, in Wichita, Kansas, I met a man who forever changed my life. Your father. 

He had green eyes, and hair the color of a shimmering wheat field. He was sitting in the third row of one of my concerts, but I could've picked him out of a crowd. He seemed to glow like that.

I left Kansas, but he followed suit. He lived in his car, following me around on the road.

Nine months later, I had you.

I named you after Artemis, the Greek goddess of the moon and the hunt. Artemis was always my favorite goddess, and I wanted to pass that on to you.

At the same time, I was eighteen years old. I had a baby. And a tour.

My manager gave me an ultimatum. My baby or my fame.

I made the worst mistake of my life. I chose my fame.

I gave you and your father up. I continued my tour. I told myself it would be fine. You guys would be fine.

When I was little, we had dreamed about having children. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was giving up my dream. Giving up my life.

We had thought we would be good mothers. When I gave you up, I lost a part of me. I lost more of me saying goodbye to you than saying a final goodbye to my mother.

I became racked with guilt. I was eighteen, and I had already lost all of my family. Those baby dolls taught me nothing about motherhood. Taking care of a plastic person is so much easier than taking care of a real one.

Plastic ones may not cry. They may not demand food or attention. They do not mind if you drop them in mud or dent their little heads.

But real babies give you a sense of hope. They make you feel needed. Their unconditional love for you is so pure. Their first words are priceless.

Artemis, I will never be able to fix this. I was not there for your first words. I was not there to give you my love or receive yours. I was not there to be needed by you.

I’m sorry.

I sit here on my deathbed writing this. I hope it reaches you, a first and last letter from your real mother. 

I could not deal with my grief and stress. There is no way to go around it, I will meet the same fate as my mother. I dealt with my fear and guilt by drowning it in a bottle of alcohol. And now I will die.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Artemis. I should have been. It is unforgivable.

I will never be able to fix this, and I will take this guilt with me to death.

Your mother,

Luna Grey