Letter to My (Never Born) Child


You were conceived on Friday morning, February 22, 2013. The following Wednesday, your dad found out that his mother, your grandmother, had gone into a coma. The same day, you were transferred inside of my womb at 1:00pm. Your grandmother died at 4:00am that Sunday morning. I was terribly afraid for your development, as the stress of the grief we were experiencing was tremendous. Now you grow inside of me – we are five weeks in as I write this and there’s no turning back. I have the sense that you are strong, you are a survivor. Out of all the viable blastocysts, you were the quickest to develop. I hope this doesn’t mean that you’ll always have a sense of being rushed in your life. So far the pregnancy is going well, even though I have nothing to compare it to. There’s so much to think about at this time – safety aspects such as the pool, practical aspects such as diapers – but I know I am getting ahead of myself. After all, we’ve got about 35 more weeks together before you are here. I just hope that we grow to really like each other, and respect one another during our lives. We’ll always love each other, but I’d really like to “get” you, to understand and in return, be understood. After burying your dad’s mother, it’s so apparent to me how fleeting life is, and how there’s just not enough time. And I bring you into the world knowing full well that one day you’ll experience my death and your father’s. This will be the hardest thing you will likely ever experience. It is my hope to prepare you for my non-existence, in that you can take care of yourself – emotionally, financially, spiritually, and still find great value in life.

When I think of you, this is the picture I paint. You are kind, considerate, loving, witty, sophisticated, intellectually curious, and down to earth. When I ask your dad, he hopes that you are compassionate, inquisitive, funny, caring, and contemplative. Of course, you may possess other positive qualities that we’ll appreciate, and likely some qualities that we’d like to put in the dumpster – probably during your pre-teen and teen years (I’ve always said that teenagers are not fit for society).

As difficult as it’s been for us to bring you to life, we are excited and scared about the prospect of being parents. Such an awesome responsibility! In some ways, I never really thought that all these shots, hormones, etc. would actually work. I was completely stunned when I saw the positive pregnancy test. My mother, your grandmother, believes that you are a very strong person, and that you are a girl. Through a sad and challenging turn of events, you managed to stick and prosper. I am already so proud of you.

My greatest fear, before even meeting you, is that one day you’ll exclaim that I am not your real mother. I imagine this penetrating me to the core. When I first found out that my eggs were likely too old, I went through a series of stages, ranging from sadness to rage. I felt I was being punished and that life was unfair. Didn’t I deserve a child of my own? Donor 470 is your biological donor/contributor, but I am your mother. Without your father and me, your individual life would not exist. We wanted you, and we were willing to work very hard and find an atypical way to conceive you. I am forever grateful for your donor, as she possessed one thing I didn’t – youth.

(Written March 2013)