Unconceived

Dear Daddy (that might never be mine),
I heard mummy cry out into the silence the other day, “How must one grieve for an unconceived child?” I heard grandma and grandpa telling mummy a few days earlier that I would have been a very beautiful baby. I remember you saying that I would have mummy’s brains and your looks. And then you held mummy and kissed her forehead and told her that you love her. You told mummy you wanted a boy because a girl would be so very difficult for you to scold or correct. That she would twist you round her little finger and then you would have yourself all twisted out over two women instead of one. And then you laughed that laugh that I often hear mummy describing as ‘beautiful laughter because it comes from his heart’. I hear mummy laughing that laugh too as she warns you that the prospect of a boy or girl lies entirely on you. You reach out and squeeze her hand, she smiles that special smile for you and rests her head on your shoulder. And I think, my mummy and daddy love each other very much. I can’t wait to be born.
I hear mummy crying again. But she was just so happy. No. That was a few months ago. Before the nightmare started. It is only a nightmare right? Now I only see mummy, living from moment to painful moment. Daddy’s what’s wrong? Why is mummy alone? Where are you? Why is a love that was so close, stretching thin across the seas and sands of stubbornness and idiocy and misconceptions and misunderstandings? I know daddy, I know. Big words right? I heard mom utter them the other night when she was on her knees praying? What did she mean?
Daddy where are you? What happened? Did I do something? But then I’m not born yet am I? I’m not even conceived! Don’t look so shocked daddy. Yes. I am your unconceived child. Yes daddy, I might not be born physically, but your love for mummy made me real. I’m not some preconceived notion or just any unborn child. Daddy, did you stop loving mom? Did you stop loving me? Did you stop loving yourself? But then if I am a child made real by love, shouldn’t I be dead now? Does this mean you still love mummy and me?
Did you know that mom really wanted to have your baby, namely me? Do you know that she still wants to? Do you know that the she believed the most beautiful gift you gave her was that of wanting only her to carry me? That it was one of the main things that would get her through the tough times when you weren’t around physically?
I would sit for hours and watch you and mummy as you lived your lives. Always loving each other; whether you argued, debated, played, slept, breathed, lived.
Love. An elusive word. I hear mummy call out your name so often in a day saying she loves you, praying that you both love each other beyond forever and find your way back to each other. Sometimes I hear her mumbling, at others fighting with herself, at still others just staring into space and letting the tears fall. And I ask myself, is this what love is all about? Pain? Then I want no part in it. Then I see mummy holding her tummy. She’s been doing that pretty often recently. She says she loves me. And she loves you. And I can feel it. And I want to be loved. If I, who isn’t even conceived as yet can feel her love, can you feel it daddy?
Every morning and every night she blows a flying kiss out of her window and sends an “I love you too” your way. Do you receive it? Do you understand it? Because I sure don’t. I don’t understand how you could have walked out wherever you have walked out to. I don’t get why you left. I don’t know how mummy still loves you more and more with each passing moment. At times I think she’ll implode with the love she has for you.
Is this one of those “nothing tastes better than unrequited love” kind of tales? Everyone keeps saying how strong mummy is to go through all this. How mummy is so brave and people look up to her. But do you know daddy that her love for you and yours for her is the only thing that keeps her going?
The other day she walked into the kitchen to make tea and then pour herself a cup, and she unconsciously picked up another and nearly poured that extra cup and then she just all but dropped that cup like it was on fire. She backed out in a trance and walked to the dining table, whipped open the drawer and pulling out a piece of paper. This is what she wrote.
“I miss you at the oddest of times. But then in love, nothing is odd. And everything is rare. This living without you is a new experience and one I do not care to live. And more so because it has been forced upon me for a reason I do not comprehend and for the fact that you lied to me.
I miss you during the oddest of moments. Like today when I made tea. I was about to pour a cup for you as well. And realised you didn’t drink from that cup anymore.
As I sat by my parents bedside the past two days while they’ve been so very sick and as I held my dad’s hand and soothed his fever, willing it to go away and hearing my mum cry in pain, I unconsciously reached for your hand. Didn’t find it. So I reached for my phone to call you and stopped myself in time. I was scared sitting at the edge of my parents bed, in the dark, offering comfort when my own self sought a solace only you could provide. I missed you.
I miss you with the oddest of instants. When I was at mass last week, I reached out for your hand to press your fingers and play our little game. All I found was cold hard wood.
Every evening between 6 and 8 I miss you the most. While I’m on my way home and I walk out of the station and not find you standing at the ticket counter. And then when I ride home in the auto rickshaw alone. I miss you in the middle of the oddest of occasions.
I was blowing my hair from my face the other day and it refused to move. And I wondered why because it always did after a few tries. And then I remembered it was because you always brushed it aside and gently tucked it in. I miss you in the oddest of situations.”
I miss you too daddy. I miss you too.
Love,
Logan



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