A Letter To...
Entry by: Amerynthe
1st May 2015
My lovely girl
I want you to know that I would have kept you if I could, but they won’t let me. I would have loved you and cared for you, but I can’t give you a future, and I can’t keep you safe. That’s why I have to give you up, even though it’s breaking my heart.
I hope your new parents will tell you early on that you are adopted: I don’t want this letter to be a shock on your eighteenth birthday. I hope they will give you a safe home and a bright future, all the things I can’t give you, and all the love you deserve. I can’t imagine anyone loving you as much as I do right now, I didn’t know it was possible to love anyone this much, but from the moment I saw you it washed over me, the love, and carried away all the horrible, horrible stuff that happened before.
I’m putting a photograph of myself as a baby in with this letter. I think you look like I did, and I’m glad about that. I hope your eyes stay blue and your hair stays fair. I like to think that one day I may pass you in the street and look at you and know it’s you, because it’s like looking in the mirror. I don’t know if that’s possible, though. I don’t know who will adopt you, someone from this town, or someone from the other end of the country. Maybe far away would be best for you, as far away from this shit town as you can get. As soon as I can, I’m going to get away, too.
You’ll want to know about your father, I suppose, but I can’t tell you much, and the stuff I can tell you isn’t anything you’ll be proud of. Don’t ever try to find him. Well, you won’t be able to, because his name’s not on your birth certificate. He was one of my Mum’s friends, not mine, so that probably tells you as much as you need to know. The first time it happened I told her, and she was mad at him and kicked him out for a few days, but he talked her round, said I was lying. After it kept happening I told my teachers and they reported him to social services and he talked them round, too. It didn’t stop until I found out I was having you. They found me a foster home then, a really nice couple, whose kids had grown up and left home. I hope your new parents will be kind like them. I wish I could stay with them for longer, but Mum’s friend – your father – is in prison now so social services think it’s ok for me to go home. Mum said she won’t let anyone else into her life ever again but I don’t believe her. There’ll be another boyfriend along soon and I won’t be safe. I can’t take you back to a place like that. That's why I have to let you go. That, and because Mum says I'm too young, and it will be for the best.
I have to go back to school in September. Everyone’s been told I had glandular fever for six months, so no-one knows about you, and that’s sad. I’d like to be able to talk about you with someone. I’ve got to go back a year because I’ve missed so much, but I’m going to work really hard and try and get some qualifications. If you do ever try and find me, I hope I’ll be someone you can be proud of.
Yesterday was my birthday, too. You are the best present I have ever had, on any birthday, ever. On my 32nd birthday you will be 18, and you’ll be opening this letter. Every day from then on I’ll be hoping that you’ll try and find me, and hoping that you’ll forgive me for letting you go.
I don’t know what your new parents will call you, but in my heart I will always call you Hope, because that’s what you’ve given me.
They are coming to take you away at 11 o'clock, so I'll seal up this letter and tuck it into your cot, and then I'll have ten minutes to hold you, to breathe in your baby smell and tell you over and over again that I love you.
Goodbye my lovely girl, my baby, my Hope.
Your mum
age 14 and 1 day
I want you to know that I would have kept you if I could, but they won’t let me. I would have loved you and cared for you, but I can’t give you a future, and I can’t keep you safe. That’s why I have to give you up, even though it’s breaking my heart.
I hope your new parents will tell you early on that you are adopted: I don’t want this letter to be a shock on your eighteenth birthday. I hope they will give you a safe home and a bright future, all the things I can’t give you, and all the love you deserve. I can’t imagine anyone loving you as much as I do right now, I didn’t know it was possible to love anyone this much, but from the moment I saw you it washed over me, the love, and carried away all the horrible, horrible stuff that happened before.
I’m putting a photograph of myself as a baby in with this letter. I think you look like I did, and I’m glad about that. I hope your eyes stay blue and your hair stays fair. I like to think that one day I may pass you in the street and look at you and know it’s you, because it’s like looking in the mirror. I don’t know if that’s possible, though. I don’t know who will adopt you, someone from this town, or someone from the other end of the country. Maybe far away would be best for you, as far away from this shit town as you can get. As soon as I can, I’m going to get away, too.
You’ll want to know about your father, I suppose, but I can’t tell you much, and the stuff I can tell you isn’t anything you’ll be proud of. Don’t ever try to find him. Well, you won’t be able to, because his name’s not on your birth certificate. He was one of my Mum’s friends, not mine, so that probably tells you as much as you need to know. The first time it happened I told her, and she was mad at him and kicked him out for a few days, but he talked her round, said I was lying. After it kept happening I told my teachers and they reported him to social services and he talked them round, too. It didn’t stop until I found out I was having you. They found me a foster home then, a really nice couple, whose kids had grown up and left home. I hope your new parents will be kind like them. I wish I could stay with them for longer, but Mum’s friend – your father – is in prison now so social services think it’s ok for me to go home. Mum said she won’t let anyone else into her life ever again but I don’t believe her. There’ll be another boyfriend along soon and I won’t be safe. I can’t take you back to a place like that. That's why I have to let you go. That, and because Mum says I'm too young, and it will be for the best.
I have to go back to school in September. Everyone’s been told I had glandular fever for six months, so no-one knows about you, and that’s sad. I’d like to be able to talk about you with someone. I’ve got to go back a year because I’ve missed so much, but I’m going to work really hard and try and get some qualifications. If you do ever try and find me, I hope I’ll be someone you can be proud of.
Yesterday was my birthday, too. You are the best present I have ever had, on any birthday, ever. On my 32nd birthday you will be 18, and you’ll be opening this letter. Every day from then on I’ll be hoping that you’ll try and find me, and hoping that you’ll forgive me for letting you go.
I don’t know what your new parents will call you, but in my heart I will always call you Hope, because that’s what you’ve given me.
They are coming to take you away at 11 o'clock, so I'll seal up this letter and tuck it into your cot, and then I'll have ten minutes to hold you, to breathe in your baby smell and tell you over and over again that I love you.
Goodbye my lovely girl, my baby, my Hope.
Your mum
age 14 and 1 day
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