Just a little something that was on my mind.
I repeat those words in my mind, a sad little smile on my face. I've known from the first day that you were going to be a boy.
You are always with me now. I feel you grow inside of me. I feel you take strength in my life just as I feel myself getting weaker and weaker with each passing day.
I know I am going to die. I know I am never going to watch you grow up, never going to be there to comfort you and dry your tears. Never going to be there to share your joys and your grieves. It makes me sad. And yet …
I love you. I know you can feel it. You are so small and yet so perceptive already. Every time I put my hand just there, I can feel you move to come under it, as if you're seeking the contact. Sometimes, I'm almost sure you already know what is going to happen, and you're trying to be with me as much as you can, as long as you can.
Isn't it ironic ? Your father wanted a son for so long. We had given up. We just wanted to enjoy life with ourselves and be happy. And here you are now.
It was hard to convince him. Even now, I know he's very disturbed. He loves you, but he knows bringing you into this world is going to most likeky kill me. I've accepted that fate a long time ago, but he hasn't. I know he doesn't know how to react. The birth of a child, of a male heir, should be an occasion for festivities. Instead, he will be mourning me the day you finally come to life. I can see the mixed happiness and pain in his eyes every time he looks at me.
Don't get me wrong, little one. Your father will love you. He does already. I, however, do know the kind of burden I am laying on you both. You will be his heir, the pride of his family, and at the same time a constant reminder that I am dead.
He will not blame it on you. How could he ? You didn't ask to come into this world. You are innocent. But I know how hard it will be for him to look at you and see only you, not just the memory of me. I know you will probably be hurt by it. I trust you both to get over it.
I do sound confident, don't I ? I am not. I don't want to leave you and him alone. I don't want to die. I just know there is no other way. I don't want to let you face this crazy world alone, little one. From whatever place I will be, I'll try to look after you. But it just won't be the same.
I decided to do this. I knew the cost, and I did this anyway. You wonder why, little one, don't you ? What could be so important in carrying a child that I would be ready to lose my life for it ?
You know it already, although I have no doubt no one else in the world could understand it. Not even your father. But in all the months you've been there, little one, you've come to know me better than myself. I wanted to give a gift to your father. What greater gift could I honestly give him but you?
I know some people will argue it's not worth it. I don't care. Because you are a gift, my son. A gift born out of an act of love. You are my gift, not only to your father, but to all humanity.
This world is going crazy, little one. I don't know what it will be like when you grow up, but I hope, with all my heart, that you will make a difference.
It sounds stupid, I know. And I've been having bad feelings lately. But every time I have, I just had to think of you, to put my hand just there and feel you coming, to reach out to you and feel your little mind answering. You're so strong already.
I am sorry, little one. Sorry I will not be there for you when you need me. And yet, you know that I will always be there, somewhere, in your heart. I guess people will tell you tales about me, tell you what I was like, show you pictures. But you already know me in your heart. I'll be there, in your heart, alive forever.
I will not cry. I stopped crying a long time ago. It will not prevent me from dying. But I'll go happy, little one, knowing that you'll be there to take care of your father for me. I'll go happy knowing you are safe.
I hope in time you will forgive me for this. Maybe I should do this thing, you know, write you a letter someone would give you on your eighteenth birthday or something. But … you already know everything I have to tell you, little one. Words are not enough to tell how much I love you, and how wonderful you made the last months of my life.
You'll have to forgive your father if he doesn't find the words, though. He will be hurt. Troubled. Disturbed. His love for you will always be tainted with the grief of my loss. That also I hope you will forgive me.
Live your life proudly, little one. I have. And you are the one I am most proud of.
Forever and beyond eternity, I love you, my son.
May you remember this all the days of your life. May your life be long and prosperous. May you find whatever it is you're looking for.
I'll be watching you from afar.
I love you.
My little Maelstrom.