Letters 3

Dear Crying Child of Mine,

I know that it has only been a few short years on this desolate rock we call home but I promise you that things will get better.  I can't even begin to understand the torment that is the daily grind of nothing but sleeping in your own bed, eating food that has been prepared for you and watching Netflix.  I don't envy the constant frustration of not being able to explain your thoughts with nothing more then a movement of the eyes and unfortunately, mind reading is still not my forte.

Yup, still don't understand you.

Let me start off by saying, I'm sorry.  I'm sorry that this terrible world is riddles with such horrendous diseases.  Namely the dreaded "common cold".  Which truly is not that common at all.  For if it was, we would in fact have a cure for such a miserable virus.  But, alas, our backward world that we live in has yet to give us the greater knowledge on how to beat such an elusive thing so we are forever fighting the battle.

I'm sorry that because our world is so disease ridden that you don't have the luxury to explore this world in your own special way.  I am so sorry that when you lick the floor mats in the doctors office or the windows to your daycare or even, dare I say it?  The tires to my mini van, that you will pick up every kind of germ there is out there.  I'm sorry.

This is the least of your worries.

I'm sorry that you don't get to experience the world with nothing more then your tastebuds.  I am beginning to understand that the magical place you lived in before coming to this terrible planet, must have been a taste only sensory world.  I'm so sorry to think that you will now have to explore your surroundings with something so dreaded as visual or physical cues.  Or even worse... verbal communication.

I parish at the thought that you must belittle yourself to such a state as having to vocally ask questions to receive even the basic of needs.  I am so sorry that I don't immediately understand your communication when you use the divine language of your people.  The sobbing that you do so naturally must have been such a strong indicator for your basic needs, especially since your use is frequent.

I am so sorry that my Neanderthal brain can not comprehend the higher language of whining, crying and some times, if I am truly blessed with your willingness to be completely open with me, your screaming.

Yes.  All I can say is, I'm sorry.  Maybe one day in the future we can work together as a primitive people and learn the beautiful language that seems to be so versatile and concise.  To think that you can have full on conversations ranging from any depth of thought starting with "what's for dinner" to even loftier abstract ideas such as "Why is Big Bird trying to change himself to fit in with the little birds that make fun of him?" with nothing more then a screech of the vocal cords, will forever be inspiring to me.

You know you saw it, and you wanted to pigeon for dinner
that night.

I know this world is full of nothing but sadness and disappointment but I promise you that if you are willing to open your mind just a little and digress enough to maybe meet us half way, it will be all worth it.  It's not so bad the world that we've created.  It serves us well enough and if you would be willing to make the effort we would accept you with open arms.

Thank you for your efforts,
Love always your stunted parent,
your mother,

Antenella