My Conception

     My mother once told me it was 80 degrees the day that I was born, I always found that interesting because cooler temperatures have often preceded my birthday. I joke that on that day, the gates of hell opened and I spawned, ironically enough growing up my mother would refer to me as the spawn of Satan. Over the years, our relationship came to end, which brings me to present day, contemplating my conception and my purpose.

     September 2013, my elder brother and I were walking around South Salt Lake, UT, the conversation as it often does, drifted to the topic of my mother and our failed relationship. I confessed that while I care deeply for my mother, she and I are like oil and water, we don't mix. That day my brother told me a secret that in an instant changed my life: first he told me that we did not share the same father, then he told me that my mother had been raped at gun point. Already a mother of four and recently divorced, my mother did what she thought was best, she attempted to raise her rapist baby.

      Suddenly it clicked, all the comments about my unwanted birth, talk of shipping me off or giving me away. I wonder how she felt seeing my face, I wonder if my birth is what led to my mother temporarily losing custody of her kids. If so, why did she take me back? For the first year or so of my life, I was raised by my aunt and her husband, to this day I still look to my aunt as the mother I often wished I had. Not meant as a blow to anyone's ego simply, like most young people, I felt the grass was greener on the other side.

      I'm not sure how the story really goes, all information I possess is hearsay so I can't attest to its validity. Long story short, my stay with my aunt was short lived and as I started my second year of life I was in the care of my mother. Often, I think back to that day and wonder why she chose to take me back. I gave birth to my rapist baby, (story for later blog) and I couldn't image the emotions that I would feel, if everyday I saw my child it was a constant reminder of the day my life as I knew it, ended. 

      Knowing what I know now, I can show my mother empathy, while I know things could have been very different. I suppose things worked as they should, one day I think she and I will talk and I hope she can answer some of the questions that I have. 

      I hope that when she looks at me, she doesn't see my father but she sees a young women, who loves and misses her mother very much. A young women, who almost let fear of rejection send her down an endless path of drifting. I was not the perfect daughter and considering all the facts, I can say that I was the devil. I attempted to devalue the job that my mom did as a mother because I thought she could do better. The only thing my mother owes me is her knowledge of life as to help better equip me for mine. 

      While I would love to celebrate the start of one life, I could not do so without acknowledging the loss of another. I am sorry he took your life and I thank you for giving and allowing me to live mine.