Dear Oliver

(A short story inspired by OneRepublic's Apologize and All This Time)


Dear Oliver:

Only 14 months old, your life has been more difficult than most adults although your tiny face does not show it. They told me that you can’t hear. And I wonder if it’s because you don’t want to for you’ve seen so much sadness and there is no need to hear more noises. They told me that you don’t eat well. And I wonder if it’s because you are exhausted from all the wretchedness surrounding you that you have no energy to take in any nutrients. They told me that you can’t walk. And I wonder if it’s because you don’t wish to be out in the sun or in the mud. They told me that you need a new home. And I wonder if it’s because you are expecting an apology.

Your big blue eyes look at me quizzically. Do you doubt me, sweet Oliver, if I will keep you? They told me you were born in the prison where your mother is. They told me that the two people brought you into this world met in the prison; each is serving their sentences for the wrongs they've done to the society. Is that why you know, from the beginning, that your innocence cannot make up for the sideways glances and the tsk-tsk sound others make when they heard about your beginning? You are restless in my arms and I wonder if it’s because you are testing my strength. Are you afraid that I would drop you too?

I put your head close to my face and smell you deliberately. I am not a superstitious woman but I want to make sure that you are not sharing the same fate as Grenouille. And you smell of the baby shampoo which I bathed you with; of baby sweat and the mild laundry detergent I used for washing your clothes. You smell…just right. I pulled you back and looked at your face; touched your nose with my index finger and smiled a smile that I hope you perceived as pleasure and warmth. You didn’t smile back and I wonder if it’s because you are waiting for the right moment. The moment when you think others have done their judging and gawking. The moment when you think you can belong to someone or someplace.  The moment when we both can love freely and without fear.  The moment when I can call you mine and me yours.  


Are you young enough to forget the first 14 months of your life?  Am I brave enough to think that my affection and devotion can make you whole?  I put you close to my breast, you turn your face. I wonder if it's because you don't understand what I am offering. I wonder if it's because you don't know what a mother is.  Would you be my angel, Oliver?  Would you stay with this woman who is dusty and weary from walking this life with heartaches and doubts?  Would you drink from my cup so you will taste my blood?  Would you eat from my palm then you will see that my heart has no shape?


Would you take a chance with me, Oliver?  Is that a "yes" when your tiny hands grasp mine and you pull yourself up standing? Is that a "yes" when you swallow the concoction I made from fruit purees and rice? Is that a "yes" when you are held by someone else but your eyes darting around searching, searching for me?  It is not too late, is it, Oliver? We do have a chance together.  And one day, one day, Oliver, you will have your apologies in the purest form from the people hurt you the most.  And I will be there holding your hand.


Your mommy for now and eternity.