My Baby Azania
I am so sorry we could not meet in this life. You came at a time when Mommy was in no condition to take care of herself let alone you. The months and days that led to your conception were full of turmoil and darkness. I could have never been the mother that I know I can be to you. I had to let you go. I had to say goodbye to you and I am so sorry. Losing you has been a soul destroying event in my life my and in love. I think about you every day. For two years it has been with regret and self-hatred when I thought of our few months together. I am changing. I love you my Azania. I love you seed of my womb. I imagine your big black compassionate and wandering eyes. When I sleep, I imagine the corners of your mouth pressed upwards into a captivating smile just like your father’s. Always forgiving. That place between sweet dreams and painful awake-ness, I feel you breathing lightly on my chest. You are real to me as the stars on a countryside night. You are real to me my darling Azania. I pray that you move on to your next life with peace and assuredness of my devotion to keeping your memory alive till the day I die. I pray that when you are reborn, that you are born to a close cousin or a beloved friend so that you can be in my life. I will know when you come in another body form. I will feel it with the rumble in my womb when our eyes meet. You will not know me with worldly comprehension but our spirits will be bound by your umbilical cord.
I promise to keep you alive and to build a shrine of remembrance in the lightest spaces of my heart. I promise to mourn your loss when it comes and not pretend I didn’t carry you. I promise to love you, talk about you and acknowledge you to my future children. I promise to kiss your chubby brown hands when you visit me before dawn. I promise not to run away anymore.
Each day before I sleep I promise to say a prayer for you and your soul. I pray in your next life you are drawn to me. I pray that you are born to a Pan-Africanist home. I pray you are born to a Mommy not at war with herself. I pray your mommy sits you in between her knees and braids your thick black woollen hair like I would have done. I pray she kisses your feet after she has bathed you like I would have done. I pray she teaches you about sacrifice and strength. I pray she sings revolution songs to you like I would have sang. I pray you never resent your womanhood. Most of all, I pray you grow up with a blazing fire for justice.
Every waking day without you has been hell but I am healing. Mommy loves you Cirhakazi. Mommy loves you my darling spirit child.
Your Mom.
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