The Cabin

It was warm.

Wait, let me start again.

…Feeling this pen, in my hand…it’s heavy.

Isn’t that funny? A pen is what… can’t be more than a few grams…even a baby can handle one. But this one…it’s heavy.

Maybe because of what I’m about to say, or write, rather. To be honest, I’ve been thinking about what to write since I’ve met you. No, I didn’t think I’d end up here, in the middle of the woods. No, this was a dream I had when I was living a life that was so long ago,

I can barely remember it.

I just had a baby. I was 15. Believe me. I loved that baby with all my heart. I wanted, more than anything to love that baby, hold that baby, feed that baby, keep that baby…but that isn’t what happened. That baby was taken away and kept away, growing up, away from me.

The nurses insisted I hold that baby, even if it was for a few minutes. Something about the warmth of a mother’s hug has been proven to take a significant hold with a new baby’s psyche, or something like that. I didn’t really understand it at the time.

I thanked whatever outside force allowed that nurse to be mine; she ignored my parents’ angry glares and ill contempt. Luckily, they were too “well-bred” to insist other wise. I cried the moment that baby landed in my arms. She didn’t cry, or scream. Her beautiful, almond-shaped green eyes was enough light to hide the darkness that clouded my mind. I swear she smiled. Smiled at me, her mother. Well, not her mother, but her reason for birth. I wanted her, so badly.

Mother finally put her foot down and demanded the nurse take her away. I yelled at her, screamed. How dare they. They refused to believe that I was pregnant and all of a sudden, they decided what to do with my child. My child. Their apathy radiated throughout the room and I felt it, like a cold knife.

Two weeks later, I left. I didn’t take this, lightly. The moment they admitted to themselves that I was pregnant, I was treated like a pariah, an outcast. A burden among those that were perfect. I was never perfect. Never deemed perfect. It wasn’t until a baby, that I knew, I didn’t need my family. I left.

I lived in my car for a nearly a year, every so often, friends would have room to take me in. Some I lost touch with, others I still talk to. I finished high school, working at the same time. Then, I started college, where I finally had a bed, a kitchen, a bathroom. I would speak to may parents, every so often. Sometimes on the holidays, maybe during birthdays. We never became close, again, and it’s rare I even speak to them, anymore. They never supported me, and they were often a distant memory.

I’ve had many jobs throughout my lifetime. I never married, and I never had anymore children. I would look for the baby, every few days, then months, and then years. I never knew what happened to her, where she was. Was she even alive?

I used to have this fantasy, that one day, she’d fine me. She would knock on my door with a giant smile on her face, maybe a bouquet of flowers, tears streaming down her face as she asks, “mom?”

I knew, though. I knew. This isn’t a hallmark movie, or a dream. This was real life. It was because of her I never married or had another child. Because of her, I thought, I never had to go through those pains, again. I already lived them. And, because of her, I lived my life the way I wanted to. I’ve had more opportunities than most. I’ve had a number of adventures, had multiple chances to learn new skills, and gained years of experience outside the conventional. A life, that I wouldn’t have had, if I had a child. If I kept that baby. I didn’t mind being along, me and my dog. Oh, did I mention I had a dog? A good dog. You would have liked him, I think. You seemed like you would. His name is Blaze.

Oh, well. I suppose, I should mention that I found you. Since you’re reading this, I guess you found me, too. But, I’m a coward. I’m sorry to say, I’m a coward. The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew exactly who you were. It happened by chance, but I knew who you were. You were beautiful and exactly how I would picture you; beautiful, smart, and your almond-shaped green eyes lit up any room your were in. Your laughter was contagious and a highlight of anyone’s day.

But I said nothing.

I was worried. Worried that I might upset you, worried I might change your life for the worst, change what you knew about the world. I didn’t know your parents. I didn’t know the kind of life you had. Believe me, I wanted to love you, to hold you, again. But I thought, that would have become a selfish act and a pesky thorn that you didn’t need in your young life. I knew, you would have been better off without knowing who I was at all.

I know all you have is a letter. Something that can’t really replace a human being, but I hope, eve if it’s just a letter, you understand that I never stopped being your mother. Everything I worked for, you were never far from my mind. I’ve saved and scrimped and lived out the very best I could in the hopes that you would someday see me and miraculously knew who I was.

I’m sorry. My biggest regret is never saying who I was. I’m so very sorry. I don’t know how to express the fear that washes over me like a cold wave. My mind is no longer what it used to be. I sometimes forget where I am and I decided to finally write this to you, knowing that I’m still sound.

This cabin hold all my memories, my dreams, and my life and it’s yours. Do with it what you will; burn it or use it. Either way, know that I love you. I will always love you. I hope that this letter has only provided answers to questions you might have had. I hope this letter eases your senses and it wasn’t hate or despair that you’ve been kept away, but love and hope.

I must be honest, I'm not sure how to end this, except that despite all my adventures and experiences, you would have been my favorite.

Mom