An Open Letter to the President.


You don’t know my name, and we will never meet. I am nothing more than a statistic penciled into a spreadsheet that will eventually disappear like the bright sun falling into the arms of twilight. This letter isn’t only from me. It is the cry of many voices who have been silenced before ever given the chance to speak. It’s a rise against injustice, but more importantly, inhumanity. You see, there are many arguments to both sides of the issue, but my thoughts are conceived from personal experience. This letter isn’t a collection of words I grouped together to stress a point. It’s a plea for mercy.

You are arguably the most powerful man in the world. When you speak, people listen. In your hand, you hold enough authority to initiate changes that affect an entire nation. For those reasons, I am bringing my request directly to your doorstep. I understand there is nothing more anyone can do for me. I know this is a fact, and I have come to accept it as such. However, I believe there is still a chance for those with a destiny not yet defined. With their future hanging in a fragile balance, I urge you to consider my words not only with an open mind, but also with an open heart.

At the moment conception sparks, I have life. I am no longer a thought or whispered hope playing hide and seek with a woman’s emotions. I am real. I might not be able to speak, demonstrate logic, or even vote, but the beginning of my journey has sprung into existence. The One who breathed life into all of creation has determined I am worth forming inside my mother’s womb. With gentle hands, He has carefully sewn me together and shaped my entire being. My future consists of many pages waiting to be penned. But, like so many others, the story concluded before it had a chance to flourish.

I believe it was hard for her. I listened to her weep every night as she dropped to her knees and prayed to God. I could feel guilt and shame permeate her entire being. I screamed out for her to please give me a chance at something miraculous and wonderful, but she couldn’t hear me. I just don’t understand why my own mother wouldn’t want me. How can someone discard another human being before they even meet face to face? Did something horrible happen to her, and she didn’t think there was any other option? Was she pressured into a decision she wasn’t quite ready to make? I know she believed it was wrong, because she wrestled back and forth with the idea up until the very moment it happened.

I often think about how my life would be right now had I been given a chance. Would I have been interested in sports? Maybe I would have ventured into politics where I would have the power to influence the lives of so many people. What would my favorite color have been? My favorite food? Would I have been pretty? Would I have liked my name? All of these are questions that will never be answered. Mr. President, have you ever stopped to consider that you could have been nothing more than a statistic as well? What if your mother had been too frightened with the ramifications of giving birth to a child?

Every breath you take, every word you speak, every emotion you feel. You owe it all to a mother who decided it was worth the risk to bring you into this world. I’m sure, like my own mother, she was terrified and nervous, because there are a million things that can go wrong. But, you were given a chance to write your story. You had the opportunity to shape your future. And you had the good fortune to experience the gratification of being a parent. I will never have any of those things. They were unfairly ripped from my grasp before I could even see the light of day.

When you so easily say every woman should have a choice at killing their own child, please remember this letter. The blood of thousands, no millions, is dripping from your hands, and you act as if it doesn’t bother you. The indifference of a society hell-bent on pleasing the masses is destroying this country. Every night before you slip into bed, take a long look into the mirror and ask yourself one question. What if you’re wrong?

You don’t know my name, and we will never meet.

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2 thoughts on “An Open Letter to the President.

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