As I began writing these lines haunt me tears and joy to talk to you. Finally. Twelve years ago. Remember?. I've been trying to forget, trying to turn away from me, my life. Without knowing it, for it had to numb, to be anesthetized, which ultimately kill a part of me. The most beautiful part of a human being: the part of us that loves to be touched, he laughs, he's glad, he sees the future with hope and optimism. That part of me was covered by a kind of black cloud on the day I missed you and decided that "better not talk about it and pull forward." Dear Son: I have two days talking to you at all times. I do not know if I can hear, the tears I cry after twelve years I say yes. I wanted to have your memories hidden in a kind of attic of my mind. In the bookcase in the corner behind a pile of useless junk. To you, that you were the greatest joy of my life. You know you never imagined could be so happy as when your mother told me she was pregnant with you?. And yet I also felt very scared. Your mother and I were college students, and we just knew. But when she told me you were growing inside her belly, I felt that for the first time in my life, I had done something really important: engendrarte. For the first time in my life, I met the wonderful feeling of loving someone more than yourself. Because thanks to you, I understand, when your mother told me she was pregnant, why come into this world to Love. In case, yes. To love others. And the sons are teachers who need to know happiness. Yes, with capital letters. The real, not fake we sold the TV and you can buy.
Dear Son: It was too fast and too confusing. Your mother said she could not "hold you" (if you already have!) Did not want to disappoint his parents. Look at what a world so rare live your father has brainwashed people to feel bad and feel guilty about a pregnancy, before a child, to the greatest joy of his life. Your mother was worried about having become pregnant, I was concerned as to whether it ceased to be and you're no longer. You know the amount of excuses and lies they have taught many women (and men) to say when a pregnancy if you beggar life, "if" is not the time "if" and have time later "(as if we have made a copy of yours) ...
Dear Son: It's all lies. You do not ruined my life. You gave me reason to live. When I heard you existed, I felt capable of anything. For you. Capable of anything, any sacrifice to give you everything you need. I was a lazy sometimes unable even to move off the couch unless it was for something I find enjoyable ... But you were willing to study, work, get up early, sleep late, not sleeping, not eating, not to buy new clothes, to forget to bring the latest model shoes ... Even forget about the career path I thought I should follow to make money as soon as possible for you. For whatever it took as long as you were OK and I was happy. It would have been happy to leave my comfortable life as a student and unemployed acunarte to feed you at night.
Dear Son: I still remember the fear I felt when I heard about others with much cynicism in your life as if you were a piece of furniture had to think about whether to return or not the manufacturer. I still remember, now with anger at not realize then, the disappointment I felt when even the psychologist who treated me through a rough patch he wore, talking about your life as a mere "option", and recommended that I should ask your mother to have pity on you, but just shut up and "was at his side." Much cold, my son! Stereotyped phrase much to wash their hands and seem "modern"! Not intercede for you with your mother ... Before the devil himself would have done if he could and would have needed to save. Your soul and mine. Your life for mine. You know I would not have mattered. Even in hell would have been happy for all eternity if going there would have ensured that you lived. How would life be silent while my son was Danger! How to stand idly by while talking of killing the son of my womb! How to tell your mom that "supported" when he spoke of destroying the flesh of my flesh and blood of my blood (and yours)!.
Dear Son: Your mother was scared. Very afraid. More than me. Or maybe it was fortunate that I had. Your grandparents taught your father that the family comes first. The blood is first. "The only truth of life", he told me your great grandmother. Nobody is amused with an unplanned pregnancy. But I had the great fortune of being raised learning the importance of loving their children above all else: above the fear, contingencies, the inconveniences, the hardships even. I do not know how to explain it because it is very difficult, but your grandparents got, without ever telling me with words, who knew and understood that nothing has meaning or value without family and without the children. No career or PhD in the making. Any future economic or professional can replace a child, however brilliant. What is more, it is offensive to talk about a child and other things as if they were interchangeable.
Dear Son: Your mother had no such luck. She grew up in another type of household. In a home where appearances, pretending to comply with success and plans (in which you were not included) was important for children and family. Your mother did not know how to explain it, but people in your family had a value in the utility function could be the face appear to be the perfect family. You know that I prayed for you. Not to worry for their parents (your grandparents), parents are very angry with an unplanned pregnancy, but then melt to have her grandson in her arms. Your other grandparents (my parents) would help us through everything. Even you would raise them if necessary as we (even if each by hand) asentábamos us professionally. I even asked that if the idea of \u200b\u200bknowing you were with someone famous who was not herself (Me or your grandparents) it was difficult to accept that you live to give leave for adoption. Nor do I care to know that you would never see if getting that vivieses. I do not know how to explain, but you were so wonderful that your life turned all the sacrifices a joy (even the sacrifice of not being able to be with you).
Dear Son: Your mother did an ultrasound. It was Easter week and returned to his city with a picture of yourself, blurred, which had the appearance of a small bean gray. You also know what I felt when I saw your picture first. Even your mother and I got to play to get you names (boy and girl) and I started thinking that there was still hope. That God would get the seemingly impossible. I did not want to know anything about God because I felt a kind of spoilers that are devoted to ban everything that I liked, I spent the day quietly praying for a miracle. Asking what your mother said he planned to do (which "had" to do, she said to try to justify the unjustifiable) is not just a bad dream and that within a few months might hold you in my arms, kiss you, smell your skin , see you mourn or look at things with the face of curiosity that always put the new arrivals.
Dear Son: They say the Gospels "everything is possible for him who believes." Forgive me if I did not have enough faith that God could perform the miracle. Your mother finally took a bus to go to another city. He asked me not to accompany her. And I did not because I was like a beast. I keep thinking if perhaps pleading for your life until the last moment had accomplished something. I think that I let myself be influenced by the misleading and politically correct jargon that your life and your death was "a decision to be respected" and in the end, I decided not to put "things" more difficult for your mother. Now I think my duty as a father was to go to the very gates of hell and, if necessary, cut the three heads of Cerberus to try to defend himself, and annoy those who would have needed (even your mother) if this was a slim chance you lived. Forgive me if I did not. You know I did the best I could. Everything suddenly came over me. It was a nightmare from which I heard about from time to time on TV or radio, or newspapers, but he thought it was one of those "always happened to others." And I never imagined that could happen to me or anyone I knew. I thought it was impossible for me to get to know anyone can do that to your child. A people like you should note in the face what they had done. And I did not see anything wrong with anyone's face and, therefore, misinterpreted the silence and pained look of so many women I've met.
Dear Son: Your mother left on a bus and I could not sleep that night. Neither could do anything (how to prepare an opposition while you were going to take you life!) The next day. When your mother came, I went to meet her at the station and then sat down for coffee, trying to keep a conversation similar to what you get when you suspend a test, or get fired. Like a bad experience I will forget in a few days, passing an exam or getting another job. You know your grandmother will get wind also who you were? I do not know how, but she knows me very well. And I felt worried. And I finished it with, as I still had hope of reaching you in my arms. And your grandmother was saddened. But not for you, but to learn what they planned to make. She also was very sad when he learned how your short life ended.
Dear Son: Your mother and I stopped seeing each other shortly thereafter. Nothing was the same. How could it be? Your mother and I have been to pretend that nothing happened (did not act like that all the world? Is it not what he pretends to all the people who make what they did to you?). And all that wonderful part of me that did not even know existed until you came, it was numbing. I even had to numb other parts of me to try to convince himself that nothing had happened really important (so does your mother and I thought it was the best way to deal with).
Dear Son: I always thought (what we have everyone fooled) that women who got rid of their children and had very clear ideas and did not suffer for it, (I found it impossible to understand that to happen) because the TV never talk about that (and, of course, if the TV does not say is that it does not, Right?). How wrong I was! A few months later, when your mother and I had long since we met, I met her through the corridors of power. Sticking out of his wrists bandaged jersey. And he told me that he had attempted suicide. Again. That had been entered. Again. And, although I said (and I dared not ask), I felt that others had run your brothers, previously, your very lucky. Two years later, I dared to tell the story of your mother to an acquaintance who had become a psychiatrist. And I confirmed it, but unwilling to say much more: that many women repent an abortion. Most unspeakable suffering. And most do so in silence because they dare to confess that they feel terrible about having done something to us as if it were the most modern and most sophisticated and that, however, is but the biggest mistake you can make in life: to kill our children. As if you kill your child into something like the pioneers of the miniskirt in the 60's.
Dear Son: Your father did not know what to do or where to go. Your grandmother was very sad when I told him what had happened. And I decided not to mention you for not making her suffer, or she, or anyone else. Your mother saw her no more. And all I heard on the matter was that it was "an option" and nobody ever talks about it (and keep us more easily fooled), except for some very loud to boast of having done so (you have to do to forget you , my son, very proud of having killed), I decided to leave your memories in the back of my mind, expected to dissipate gradually. At last, after all, did not even have a site where you can go to take flowers to clean a tombstone with your name, pray or just sit and keep you company.
Dear Son: The years passed. Your father went ahead with their studies and work. And, without knowing account, became a selfish cynic not trust anything or anybody. In a kind of shadow of himself did not understand the emptiness that had gripped him, and sought the happiness denied to us at parties and, above all other women. Now it seems that something inside me urged me to find another woman he left pregnant, but I thought just what I wanted was "complex and forget my past" and "enjoy life." And over the years. With your father become a compulsive aspiring conqueror, also without knowing why, trying to be, whenever he could, no sex type of prevention. When he succeeded, was a triumph for me. Now I see what you looking for a part of me was to open the way to life, which crippled you. The result was that several of the women he was turned to a pill that, if one of your brothers appeared there, he had just going down the toilet.
Dear Son: How we handle ... How they deceive us ... How to tease us ... They managed to become an army of zombies kind of embarrassed to have claimed the lives of one or more of their children (I do not even know how ...). And shame leads to silence. And the silence perpetuates the drama. We are like protagonists of the story of the emperor who was naked down the street as people praised his suit, because no one dared to tell the truth (because if the TV does not count, we doubt if it's true or not, whether we are not the only ones we realize what is obvious to all, and we are afraid to be the first to shout that the emperor has no clothes).
Dear Son: Over time, your father met a wonderful woman with whom he has married. A year and a half were married, did your brother. The first of my children that I have been shaking in my arms. When I handed him over for the first time it had and could see, I began to mourn in front of everyone. Everyone blamed it I'm very sentimental. Your brother is indeed already a man. Runs around the house and talks more than his father and mother together, though little is understood nothing. And his mother and I just got word that we will be parents again.
Dear Son: I do not know why, but a few weeks ago I went on an internet forum where people write (mostly women) with similar experiences to those of your father. I read his stories and thought that, fortunately, not me I was the same because I had done everything possible to save you. How wrong I was ...! Suddenly I realized that I could not feel with your brother the same joy you felt when your mother I told you she was pregnant. Not with this one that is now on the road (well, you are here). And I wondered why. And I realized I had to bury part of my soul under tons of cynicism to believe that your early start I was not affected (because you are not supposed to affect something that "everybody does"). And for twelve years disenchanted with life, dominated by pessimism, feeling that I did not deserve to be happy, nor do I deserve to have children (when I said we hoped to your brother first, I could not believe: was a strange feeling, as if that should not be happening to me), and did not deserve worth striving for nothing, because nothing was going well ever. And I remembered that before your loss, I was a lazy complacent, but looked at life with optimism and joy. And, since you were not there, lived with a kind of black cloud behind him would not let me enjoy things and I had used as if it were part of the landscape.
Dear Son: When your brother was born, not only cried for him. I did not realize, but also crying for you. For you and me (and mother) we deserved to have felt the overwhelming happiness of looking at the eyes, touching hands and strengthen our bodies against each other. And he could be. And, to see first time your brother could not believe that I was going so much happiness to me. To me, I knew not to impede your progress.
Dear Son: I read in the forum where the experiences of these people who throw so much, their children and have opened my eyes, I read how some people pretend it does not affect them because they never talk about it, although they note because his personality change and become more selfish, more callous, more sarcastic and more disenchanted with everything (like what happened to your father). And some, after many years, are finally able to talk about it. And they realize the reason for that inner pain with no name. And I confess. Y I realized that was one of them. Because, although I have talked to you with the mother of your brothers (who is very smart and tried to throw me in the language because he knows me better than myself, but I would not ever go into detail about your short life) if I saw you like a distant memory, through the blinders that I had set myself.
Dear Son: You are not a distant memory. You're my son. My son, who died twelve years ago and I've always treated as if it never existed. Forgive me. Your grandmother always said that no greater pain than losing a child. And sometimes I wondered why I was not wrong. And is that the screen without realizing that I put between you and me escape from my pain kept me from feeling like I felt then, as my son. As a person who, for me, was more important than myself.
Dear Son: I have two days non-stop talking to you, I have many things to say and, as I am alone, I tell you everything that comes to mind. Once I saw a film about the life of a writer you know that I love, this writer is an admirer of his house. The woman died soon after marriage due to bone cancer. And the writer, which is very lucid, say the most beautiful in the whole movie: "The pain now is part of the happiness then." How true, my son! The pain I felt, and felt, for your loss came along with the joy of knowing you existed. And the reverse also happened: To forget the pain I needed to sacrifice in oblivion happy I met you. Which is capitalized. And so, when I learned that my wife was pregnant with your brother, I could not feel the same joy. Because part of me was shrouded. Because we fall and we just believe that pain is something to be avoided at all costs. And it's a big lie. Because, to avoid the pain we have to anesthetize so much it can not feel joy or happiness.
Dear Son: From I started to talk to you, and treat again as my son, I see your brothers differently. And I see your little brother pregnancy differently. We no longer see it as if it were happening to another. As does the pain of your loss, also overlooks the light of joy for your brothers. And you. Because I've been a fool to be ashamed of your existence all these years. Because you were always "something that one should learn, it would be too embarrassing." Now think how many people are just deceived me. And I do not feel ashamed, but proud. Proud to be your father and Having A generated, even if not considered as an ideal time to do so under the rules some have been invented. Proud not to have listened to those who asked me not to "secure his most difficult things in your mother, and have begged for your life to the point where my knees before her in a park in broad daylight.
Dear Son: Your grandfather (my father) died several years ago. A cancer took him quickly. Your cousins \u200b\u200band your brother were not born yet. One of the phrases he said when he was admitted to hospital last (and at times, I was unaware of the seriousness of his condition) and we all agreed was that I asked God to let him live even see his face one of his grandchildren. Imagine has been able to see yours. What a surprise it must have taken the poor ...! And what a joy ... (perhaps, to know, has returned to say that both used the phrase: "In this family spend a lot of things and me no one ever tells me anything!". Perhaps some of you are also with of your brothers.'s your mother gave armed killers stainless steel instruments and I may have given to the effects of killer pills offer us like happiness pills. You know, I'm so selfish I wish that God exists and heaven exists only to know that you are all well.
Dear Son: I do not even even remember exactly when you should have been born, but I think it should have been for November or December. I will do everything possible that very soon your father and all those who cast you so much, can have a place where flowers take in your memory. And maybe write your name on a large stone, or a large stone. And put a cross (or what each one prefers) in your memory. Because we're tired of pretending not to have existed. Because we are proud of you all. We are proud to have given their lives. Even then, some make the huge mistake of working at the time that you remove it. Remember that they did out of fear or confusion. Now we would all life for every one of you, if we had the chance.
Dear Son: Your father now, when walking down the street, try to see the eyes of every girl and every women he crosses. Your father now realizes that many women have what he calls "dead eyes." Their eyes seem the door to a bottomless pit, a deep chasm of pain. Perhaps for other reasons, but I now that I have my eyes open, I wonder how many of them made the terrible mistake of believing that "if on TV say it's good, it must be" or that "if it is not illegal is not bad. " It turns out that this is a great and terrible lie You know. A few speak in the media as if killing had not had (or had) less important (in fact, speak as if this had not killed anyone), while the vast majority of women who have been parading as automata bitter and painful grieving, not daring to shout loudly that everything is a lie: that you are our children, that is not true that money, or mortgage, or a job or a career worth more (no value) at your side. And, the trick to do the unspeakable, we are tearing ourselves soul, as has happened to your father for 12 years.
Dear Son: some time now hand, here and in other countries, a minority that speaks of "coming out" and not ashamed of their lifestyle. I never thought that I was also put in one. You know? We who have to come out and, if the opportunity arises, you talk about where, how and with whom it is necessary, to show that you want. Let us not be ashamed of you, but from our mistakes (and you, though some of you so called at the time, you are not: you were the greatest success of our lives, even if unintended and even then we knew it not.) And "coming out" to shout from the rooftops and find the murderer who plot has become the greatest happiness of the life of a human being a source of pain and shame.
Dear Son: I have a book called "The Bible." Everyone has it, and almost no one reads (more or less the opposite of the "Mark", who buy and read very few worldwide). I read it 15 years, out of curiosity. And I understood almost nothing, really. Now I'm going to read. And I read somewhere that God loves you so much (so much wants us all) that even if a mother does not pity the son of her womb, He never forgets us. I imagine that you will know better than me, you've got closer. Ask him on our behalf to put in our minds the ideas, the value in our hearts and in our mouths the words to open the eyes of those who, for convenience or ignorance, are still closed. And to remind you, but not like at first, if you were here with us, even for a short time. For I will always love. Because you've always wanted, although I have sometimes denied, as Peter did with Jesus.
Dear Son: You are now with Him who created you in His image and likeness. With whom he formed your body; with the One who made you in the womb of your mother made you with the secret, you wove in the depths of the earth. The saw your substance and already had designed all over you even before they formed.
Dear Son: You know what this book also tells you? They are a gift from God. That you are His reward, (and not its punishment, says a well-known politician who has won an election recently in the U.S.). You are like arrows in the hand of a brave warrior. And the man who fills his quiver with these arrows, never be embarrassed by his enemies. What was my quiver empty without you! And how I was ashamed of it!. It also says that not a sparrow falls from a tree even without God's knowledge. And you wonder why you fall allows you. And I answer that you gave your life for others to open our eyes and are open up to others. And we have an obligation to make your death not be in vain, but a hundred lives saved by each of you, or more if needed. Dear
Bolt: This December 28 will remember you as you deserve. As a child who lived but very little on our side, was loved, wanted and desired as much as anyone else. As a child who deserved to fight for it. As a child who misses it every day (your mother too, and you know it). As a child of which I am proud to be known and loved by his brothers, and the rest of his family.
Dear Son: The Lord gave us. And the Lord brought you. Blessed be His name forever.
A big kiss. Your father
www.unidosporlavida.org / Letter from a
padre.htm
Dear Son: 
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