lifesong
Everyone needs compassion
Love that's never failing
Let mercy fall on me
Everyone needs forgiveness
The kindness of a Saviour
The hope of nations
Saviour, He can move the mountains
My God is mighty to save
He is mighty to save
Forever author of salvation
He rose and conquered the grave
Jesus conquered the grave
So take me as you find me
All my fears and failures
Fill my life again
I give my life to follow
Everything I believe in
Now I surrender
Shine your light in
Let the whole world see
We're singing, for the glory
Of the risen King
Jesus, Shine your light in
Let the whole world see
We're singing for the glory
Of the risen king
Friday, August 26, 2005
-8:55 pm
17th August, 1990
My dearest daughter,
Writing is forbidden here in Gilead. But here I am, writing you a letter. A story is like a letter, but this is not a story I am telling, because I do not have control over the ending. I do not know where you are now, only that you are not with me. Nonetheless, I will pretend that you can hear me.
My daughter, notice I do not use your name. Attaching a name attaches you to the world of fact, which is riskier, more hazardous: who knows what the chances are out there, of survival, or yours? I know I must forget my secret name, even yours and your father’s too. But I keep them, like forbidden treasure stashed safely away in my memory. It keeps my past intact as I delve into the deep layers of my consciousness at night, to recall who I am, and who you are. I dream a lot nowadays, the line between reality and fantasy is blurred. Maybe the life I think I’m living is a paranoid delusion.
Not a hope. I know where I am, and who, and what day it is. These are tests, and I am sane. Sanity is a valuable possession; I hoard it the way people once hoarded money. I save it so I will have enough, when the time comes.
My daughter, I have so much to say to you. Yet, a mere letter cannot contain the outflow of words from my heart, it cannot express how much I love you and long to hear your voice. I have just seen a photo of you. You have grown. Serena Joy came to my room, she was holding it, a Polaroid print, square and glossy. I could only have it for a minute though, she had to return it before they found out that it was missing. I took it from her, turned it around so I could see it right-side up. Was it you I wondered. My treasure.
You are still alive.
So tall and changed. Smiling a little now, so soon, and in your white dress as if for an olden-day First Communion. Time has not stood still. I am only a shadow now, far back behind the glib shiny surface of this photograph. Trapped in a prison with invisible walls, plaster eyes in the ceiling. A shadow of a shadow, as dead mothers, I have become. I could see it in your eyes: I’m not there. Do you know me at all? Remember the times we shared together before the nightmare started?
I don’t think you do.
I try not to miss you too much. The heartache is too much to bear, sometimes like a dull hollow ache, at times, sharp excruciating pain. I need to lock up all my emotions, become unfeeling, if not they would drain away, and I would become just a shell, dead.
But I cannot help myself. Nights are my time, to do as I please. I would lie awake in bed, drifting between consciousness and numbing oblivion. I would recall the past, bit by bit, fragment by fragment. One day, they would all be pieced together, like a jigsaw puzzle of my past.
I remember holding you, your eyelids heavy with sleep, your little head nestled on my shoulder. I would rock you, resting my cheek against yours, smelling the powdery fragrance of a baby, my baby. I would bring you outside to play, your laughter like music to my ears. You would turn and smile at me. A smile bright than the sun; brilliant radiance. Sometimes, you would cry, and I would hold you tight in my arms, to tenderly kiss the fears away, to gently wipe your tears away from your eyes.
But all that is gone now. Your young face I still remember, albeit hazy and distorted, but still flashing before my very eyes each time I thought of you. The pang of missing you, of a mother losing her child, would haunt me. Images like a black and while slideshow clicking by, one after another, of us running though the dark forest, of you stumbling, of us lying as still as corpses waiting for the danger to pass, of me trying to stifle your frightened cries. Of you, being taken away from me, your pale face fading into the death of the night. The anguish of losing you still hurts though it has been so long. Time cannot erase the pain.
I wonder how you are now, my child. Where you are, who you are with and what you are doing. My only hope is that you have not been imprisoned as well, incarcerated in this depraved, fallen world. But if you are, though I wildly hope against it, I want you to escape. Be strong, do not conform. They can try to indoctrinate you, show you Unwomen documentaries. But you must not ever yield. Never.
My daughter, I still hold you dear in my heart. Nights, I would try to catch your fleeting image, but like shifting shadows you would slither from my grasp, slipping through my fingers. But at least I know you exist, in your white dress. You grow and live. Isn’t that a good thing? A blessing?
Still, I can’t bear it, to have been erased from your life just like that. Better she’d brought me nothing. How I long to hear your call me “Mommy” again, just once more.
But it’s no good, because I know you can’t hear me.
With love,
Mom
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This was a piece I wrote for my literature The Handmaid's Tale test, where we had to take on the role of a character in the novel and write a diary entry in that persona. For those who have read the book, you'll know that I'm writing as Offred, a Handmaid in Gilead. Do leave your comments; I value any thoughts or sentiments on this piece of writing.
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