My Girl

Dearest Aubrey,
You should be here. You should be 18 years old. Driving, working, studying, babysitting your siblings. Laughing with me. Loving me. I picture you with long, brown hair like your sisters and big, blue eyes. On September 5th, 1990 you died. I was distraught even as you grew. I was distraught before the vacuum suctioned your body from mine. I was distraught after. Regret hardly conveys the depth of my emotion. A grief and a sorrow that consumes me at times. I can hardly bear it because I did not fight for your life. Fight to protect you. Fight for your right to live and grow and be. I did not place your life before my desperate thoughts of self-preservation. I was deceived into thinking you were a clump of cells, tissue, you were nothing, you were not even a baby.
I know what I have done. I carry it. I own it. I live with it. I would give anything to go back there though, and tell them all to go to hell, walk out that abortion mill door and embrace your life.
The grief I feel is hardly as big as the love, Aubrey. The love I have for you knows no bounds. The joy I have in knowing that I will see you one day. The hope I feel in telling others about you.
You are my daughter and I will honor your short life in every way that I can, as long as I live.

I love you, Aubrey,
Mommy