Until I read this letter a couple of days ago I’ve\u00a0excused myself from\u00a0passing judgment\u00a0on abortion. I don’t like it but I’m a man, it’s not my body and I have no right to an opinion.<\/p>\n
Sorry, not my table.<\/p>\n
Besides, morality is largely subjective, isn’t it? Who am I to tell you what’s right or wrong for you?<\/p>\n
Then I read this letter written by an unidentified woman and posted on the social site, Reddit,<\/em> and reprinted in\u00a0Cosmopolitan<\/em>. The writer is having\u00a0an abortion tomorrow.<\/p>\n It’s a letter to her unborn child.<\/p>\n Little Thing:<\/p>\n I can feel you in there. I’ve got twice the appetite and half the energy. It breaks my heart that I don’t feel the enchantment that I’m supposed to feel. I am both sorry and not sorry.<\/p>\n I am sorry that this is goodbye. I’m sad that I’ll never get to meet you. You could have your father’s eyes and my nose and we could make our own traditions, be a family. But, Little Thing, we will meet again. I promise that the next time I see that little blue plus, the next time you are in the same reality as me, I will be ready for you.<\/p>\n Little Thing, I want you to be happy. More than I want good things for myself, I want the best things for the future. That’s why I can’t be your mother right now. I am still growing myself. It wouldn’t be fair to bring a new life into a world where I am still haunted by ghosts of the life I’ve lived. I want you to have all the things I didn’t have when I was a child. I want you to be better than I ever was and more magnificent than I ever could be. I can’t do to you what was done to me: Plant a seed made of love and spontaneity into a garden, and hope that it will grow on only dreams. Love and spontaneity are beautiful, but they have little merit. And while I have plenty of dreams to go around, dreams are not an effective enough tool for you to build a better tomorrow. I can’t bring you here. Not like this.<\/p>\n I love you, Little Thing, and I wish the circumstances were different. I promise I will see you again, and next time, you can call me Mom.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n The woman who wrote this is obviously a person of sensitivity, intellect and skill. I’ll even assume that she has a great capacity for love because she seems to understand how it feels, if not exactly what it means.<\/p>\n Mom is ending her beloved Little Thing’s potential for life because it’s inconvenient.<\/p>\n Little Thing will never open his or her eyes to the dazzling rock show of light and sound that celebrates the moment of every birth. She’ll never feel the warm rush of delivery\u00a0from her mother’s womb to her mother’s arms.<\/p>\n Little Thing will never suffer fear or confusion because Mom spared him of all that inconvenience.<\/p>\n He\/She\/Thing will never cry or laugh or decide what tastes It likes or doesn’t like.<\/p>\n She\/He\/It will never be excited or fearful, nor consider Little Thing’s future possibilities.<\/p>\n After tomorrow\u00a0nothing will be possible.<\/p>\n There will be no Little Thing.<\/p>\n She\/He\/It is inconvenient.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"