cotton candy #5: a confession; cherry on top
Author: Marika Kailaya
Title: Such a Fucking Cliché
'Verse: Nagekawashii; MeYu
Challenge: Cotton Candy: 5. a confession
Toppings/Extras: A cherry on top
Wordcount: 1240
Rating: PG
A/N: early 1972. you can assume this letter got lost in the chaos following his birth and her death, because meki sure as hell never read it.
Meguru-
Is your name Meguru? Papa and I discussed it as one of our options, and I said, "If I can't name him when it's time, if we don't decide before, that's what you should call him."
If that isn't your name, that's all right, son of mine-
If you're reading this, it's fairly obvious to both of us I died, isn't it? (If I did not die, then you will never see this or know how hard it's been to stay alive even to this eighth month. I'm holding out for nine and praying I make it through to feed and care for you through your own life.)
So you're reading and I'm dead, then.
As I write this, it doesn't seem like it's such a far-off possibility, my death. I can write about it freely because I can no longer sit up, and I haven't been breathing completely on my own for days now. I'm lying in the hospital bed your Papa had to buy for me-hospital bed, because it can be adjusted when I can't move. I am certain you're having a hellish time reading this, because it's so difficult for me to hold the pen-my hands, and yes I must write with both, won't grip or move properly when they will.
I'm tired, Meguru. I am very sick. I have been very sick since I was in my own mother's womb, and I've met more than one doctor in the last few years who told me I'd never be able to conceive, let alone carry such impossible pregnancies longer than a few short months.
I was told, more than once, that if I did become pregnant, I would have an abortion or die with my child.
You were an accident. I have never been suicidal and so never tried to have a child before.
And I'd never had the opportunity simply handed to me like that, either, had I?
In my life, there has been only one thing I wanted more than anything else, and that would be a child, to be a mother to my own child. I learned early on that I'd have to live without it.
I have never been properly alive as I am knowing you are there and will be born if I can just make it a bit longer-and Lord, child, I've made it for eight months longer than I ever should've. Do you think I can do it, Meguru? Would you cheer me on from inside my own self?
But I think I will die shortly. I will try to give you your life if it's the last thing I ever do, but if I die-if I don't make it long past your birth-
Oh, baby, I don't even know what to say. It's a tragic cliché, dying mothers writing letters to their unborn children, but I will not die without leaving you something of my own. This notebook is resting atop my sore belly.
My name is Nicole. I am from the United States of America, which you will learn, as you grow older, is a large and foreign country that your Papa thinks is incomprehensibly strange. I came here to study for school, so that I might return to the States and teach immigrants English, and I got married and studied to be a librarian instead. I am very happy in Japan, but it's been difficult because so few Japanese accept people like myself. They're wary. There are some places in which I am not allowed-the owners stop me at the door. No gaijin-no one trusts you, American woman.
Meguru, my love, do not judge. You will be judged. Everyone is. I can assure you that the world is full of people who hate other people based on utter nonsense. Please do not be one of them. Please stop no one at the door.
Unless, perhaps, they are wearing a ski mask and holding a weapon. Then you may stop them from entering, as they are probably going to kill you.
Welcome to the world, baby.
I have very nearsighted blue eyes, I suppose because I spend more time reading than anything else. My hair is long and black, and my skin is pale, so I freckle easily. I love books-I hope you will too. If I don't live, I hope someone shares my favourites with you. I hope Papa won't grieve so much he can't do that.
I also like flowers and sunshine. I have a garden out in the back of our home, and it was full and bright long after I had to let Papa keep up with it instead of me.
Right now it isn't full or bright-it's buried under winter. Come spring it will grow again and be beautiful. I hope it's there when you are old enough to look at it and laugh in joy at all the colours.
All of my hopes are laid upon you and yet you are the only thing I really hope for at all.
This pregnancy has taken all colour from my own body. And a good bit of my hair and most of my remaining vision. Papa reads books to me now. Papa picked flowers for me when we found out about you. He knew I was happy. He accepted it, eventually; he also wanted a child.
I am drained, and dying, and shortly I expect I won't even be able to speak, but let me tell you before you are guilty-I have never been happier.
They told me I was pregnant. I nearly passed out. It was unexpected and fatal and I was so happy and pleased I nearly fainted right on the doctor's floor.
I have done my best to survive. I have been in so much pain and have lost so much of my ability to function and still I want to live at least long enough to give you your own life.
They tried to make me abort the pregnancy.
I said no. I fought them for it and said no and at one point punched a doctor in the face. You are mine. You are the only thing I have wanted. I have lived my entire life secretly hoping for you.
My dear, I will surely die for you.
Just two months ago they were even then willing to take you from me and kill you to save me, and I swear, I don't think I've ever seen a doctor look so scared of a tiny, sick woman shouting at him.
My lungs were exhausted but my heart was on fire and I would've burned the whole world down then if it would've helped me to keep you.
I love you, baby. I have no regrets. You are what I wanted. If I had died without you, without you ever even being a possibility, I would regret everything.
My stomach is warm when I rest a hand on it. Warm and impossibly large. I laugh just looking at it, laugh because I am so happy. For you I have everything I need.
If I have died, if I have only been your mother in that I gave birth to you, please understand, more than anything else-I am mothering you from Heaven.
But it's high time I went to bed, so I'll end the letter now.
Good night, baby,
Mama.
Title: Such a Fucking Cliché
'Verse: Nagekawashii; MeYu
Challenge: Cotton Candy: 5. a confession
Toppings/Extras: A cherry on top
Wordcount: 1240
Rating: PG
A/N: early 1972. you can assume this letter got lost in the chaos following his birth and her death, because meki sure as hell never read it.
Meguru-
Is your name Meguru? Papa and I discussed it as one of our options, and I said, "If I can't name him when it's time, if we don't decide before, that's what you should call him."
If that isn't your name, that's all right, son of mine-
If you're reading this, it's fairly obvious to both of us I died, isn't it? (If I did not die, then you will never see this or know how hard it's been to stay alive even to this eighth month. I'm holding out for nine and praying I make it through to feed and care for you through your own life.)
So you're reading and I'm dead, then.
As I write this, it doesn't seem like it's such a far-off possibility, my death. I can write about it freely because I can no longer sit up, and I haven't been breathing completely on my own for days now. I'm lying in the hospital bed your Papa had to buy for me-hospital bed, because it can be adjusted when I can't move. I am certain you're having a hellish time reading this, because it's so difficult for me to hold the pen-my hands, and yes I must write with both, won't grip or move properly when they will.
I'm tired, Meguru. I am very sick. I have been very sick since I was in my own mother's womb, and I've met more than one doctor in the last few years who told me I'd never be able to conceive, let alone carry such impossible pregnancies longer than a few short months.
I was told, more than once, that if I did become pregnant, I would have an abortion or die with my child.
You were an accident. I have never been suicidal and so never tried to have a child before.
And I'd never had the opportunity simply handed to me like that, either, had I?
In my life, there has been only one thing I wanted more than anything else, and that would be a child, to be a mother to my own child. I learned early on that I'd have to live without it.
I have never been properly alive as I am knowing you are there and will be born if I can just make it a bit longer-and Lord, child, I've made it for eight months longer than I ever should've. Do you think I can do it, Meguru? Would you cheer me on from inside my own self?
But I think I will die shortly. I will try to give you your life if it's the last thing I ever do, but if I die-if I don't make it long past your birth-
Oh, baby, I don't even know what to say. It's a tragic cliché, dying mothers writing letters to their unborn children, but I will not die without leaving you something of my own. This notebook is resting atop my sore belly.
My name is Nicole. I am from the United States of America, which you will learn, as you grow older, is a large and foreign country that your Papa thinks is incomprehensibly strange. I came here to study for school, so that I might return to the States and teach immigrants English, and I got married and studied to be a librarian instead. I am very happy in Japan, but it's been difficult because so few Japanese accept people like myself. They're wary. There are some places in which I am not allowed-the owners stop me at the door. No gaijin-no one trusts you, American woman.
Meguru, my love, do not judge. You will be judged. Everyone is. I can assure you that the world is full of people who hate other people based on utter nonsense. Please do not be one of them. Please stop no one at the door.
Unless, perhaps, they are wearing a ski mask and holding a weapon. Then you may stop them from entering, as they are probably going to kill you.
Welcome to the world, baby.
I have very nearsighted blue eyes, I suppose because I spend more time reading than anything else. My hair is long and black, and my skin is pale, so I freckle easily. I love books-I hope you will too. If I don't live, I hope someone shares my favourites with you. I hope Papa won't grieve so much he can't do that.
I also like flowers and sunshine. I have a garden out in the back of our home, and it was full and bright long after I had to let Papa keep up with it instead of me.
Right now it isn't full or bright-it's buried under winter. Come spring it will grow again and be beautiful. I hope it's there when you are old enough to look at it and laugh in joy at all the colours.
All of my hopes are laid upon you and yet you are the only thing I really hope for at all.
This pregnancy has taken all colour from my own body. And a good bit of my hair and most of my remaining vision. Papa reads books to me now. Papa picked flowers for me when we found out about you. He knew I was happy. He accepted it, eventually; he also wanted a child.
I am drained, and dying, and shortly I expect I won't even be able to speak, but let me tell you before you are guilty-I have never been happier.
They told me I was pregnant. I nearly passed out. It was unexpected and fatal and I was so happy and pleased I nearly fainted right on the doctor's floor.
I have done my best to survive. I have been in so much pain and have lost so much of my ability to function and still I want to live at least long enough to give you your own life.
They tried to make me abort the pregnancy.
I said no. I fought them for it and said no and at one point punched a doctor in the face. You are mine. You are the only thing I have wanted. I have lived my entire life secretly hoping for you.
My dear, I will surely die for you.
Just two months ago they were even then willing to take you from me and kill you to save me, and I swear, I don't think I've ever seen a doctor look so scared of a tiny, sick woman shouting at him.
My lungs were exhausted but my heart was on fire and I would've burned the whole world down then if it would've helped me to keep you.
I love you, baby. I have no regrets. You are what I wanted. If I had died without you, without you ever even being a possibility, I would regret everything.
My stomach is warm when I rest a hand on it. Warm and impossibly large. I laugh just looking at it, laugh because I am so happy. For you I have everything I need.
If I have died, if I have only been your mother in that I gave birth to you, please understand, more than anything else-I am mothering you from Heaven.
But it's high time I went to bed, so I'll end the letter now.
Good night, baby,
Mama.