Shilo Wallace (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shilowallace) wrote2012-02-13 02:16 pm
shilowallace) wrote2012-02-13 02:16 pm
[archive] justprompts@lj: Write a letter to your children or future children. - 01.20.09
from the diary of Shilo Wallace
So STOP READING NOW...that means you, DAD. It's not like I can't tell when the LOCK has been broken!!!
Magdalene,
Maggie.
I'll call you Maggie. I always wanted to be named after someone important. I don't know why Mom and Dad picked what they did. My middle name should have been Magdalene. Mom wrote it in all the baby books. I wish Dad hadn't changed it, but I can't do anything about that, now. That's why I'm going to give you what I never had.
Well, lots of things I never had. Like, you know. A mother. I'm not sick. Well. I mean, I'm sick. But I'm going to get better. It's not going to kill me. It's not that kind of poison. I'll be well, I'm sure of it, by the time it matters. I won't pass on faulty, diseased genetics to you.
You're going to be healthy. You'll never be grounded. Your room won't have a lock on its door. This house will not be your house. We'll live somewhere that's full of light. Natural light, sunshine. Away from prisons and drafty mansions and tombs. No more death, no more graveyards.
Well...okay, maybe some graveyards. I won't say why, now. But I won't make you wait until you're older, either. You'll know when you want to. I'll never hide anything from you. There are no more secrets in this family. I want you to know as much as possible. I want you to know everything.
I think you'll be beautiful. In my head, you're as pretty as my mother on her wedding day. Prettier, maybe, because you'll have other genetics to draw from. Genetic perfection - you cannot buy it at GeneCo. You have to be born with it. (...Duh.) And I'll make sure you are. You'll have the prettiest hair. I think it'll be curly. Wavy, at least. And thick. You'll probably have blue eyes. Daddy, your grandfather, had blue eyes. And...well. If that's what you want, I think the odds are in your favor. I hope it's all what you want because I don't ever want you to change who you are, once you're here.
No surgeries. Surgery makes your face fall off when you're on stage trying to sing (BUT FAILING!!!!) and, while this is funny when it happens to certain people, it would not be funny if it happened to you. When people see you - and they will because you'll never have to hide in your bedroom - they won't laugh. They will love you, too.
Just like I love you, already, even though you're really just pretend and I'm really still a kid. An advanced warning? Don't look forward to your eighteenth birthday. Some things are nice, but those things are circumstantial and you would be selfish to expect that they'll keep happening, just because you're "of age". Age is not magic, it's a number. That might work for you or against you. (I'm not sure what it's doing to me.)
I know you're not even an idea yet, but if you ever happen, I'll be so happy to see you. I hope you happen. And, if you do, these are my promises to you. You will always be loved. You will always have me, in your time of need.
♥ always,
Shilo Marie Wallace (your mom)
Maggie.
I'll call you Maggie. I always wanted to be named after someone important. I don't know why Mom and Dad picked what they did. My middle name should have been Magdalene. Mom wrote it in all the baby books. I wish Dad hadn't changed it, but I can't do anything about that, now. That's why I'm going to give you what I never had.
Well, lots of things I never had. Like, you know. A mother. I'm not sick. Well. I mean, I'm sick. But I'm going to get better. It's not going to kill me. It's not that kind of poison. I'll be well, I'm sure of it, by the time it matters. I won't pass on faulty, diseased genetics to you.
You're going to be healthy. You'll never be grounded. Your room won't have a lock on its door. This house will not be your house. We'll live somewhere that's full of light. Natural light, sunshine. Away from prisons and drafty mansions and tombs. No more death, no more graveyards.
Well...okay, maybe some graveyards. I won't say why, now. But I won't make you wait until you're older, either. You'll know when you want to. I'll never hide anything from you. There are no more secrets in this family. I want you to know as much as possible. I want you to know everything.
I think you'll be beautiful. In my head, you're as pretty as my mother on her wedding day. Prettier, maybe, because you'll have other genetics to draw from. Genetic perfection - you cannot buy it at GeneCo. You have to be born with it. (...Duh.) And I'll make sure you are. You'll have the prettiest hair. I think it'll be curly. Wavy, at least. And thick. You'll probably have blue eyes. Daddy, your grandfather, had blue eyes. And...well. If that's what you want, I think the odds are in your favor. I hope it's all what you want because I don't ever want you to change who you are, once you're here.
No surgeries. Surgery makes your face fall off when you're on stage trying to sing (BUT FAILING!!!!) and, while this is funny when it happens to certain people, it would not be funny if it happened to you. When people see you - and they will because you'll never have to hide in your bedroom - they won't laugh. They will love you, too.
Just like I love you, already, even though you're really just pretend and I'm really still a kid. An advanced warning? Don't look forward to your eighteenth birthday. Some things are nice, but those things are circumstantial and you would be selfish to expect that they'll keep happening, just because you're "of age". Age is not magic, it's a number. That might work for you or against you. (I'm not sure what it's doing to me.)
I know you're not even an idea yet, but if you ever happen, I'll be so happy to see you. I hope you happen. And, if you do, these are my promises to you. You will always be loved. You will always have me, in your time of need.
♥ always,
Shilo Marie Wallace (your mom)