I have a responsibility as a mother; it is to bring you into the world and look after your welfare and safety as best as I can. I am also supposed to bring up a child with good discipline and morals. But, in my opinion, as a mother, I also have one other major role, and that is to give you as well as my other children a life that was better than the one I had lived. This role would have been impossible to fulfill if you were alive, you would have been born in the same horrific world I was in.
When I killed you, you must believe me, I did not do it as a malicious act; I did it out of an act of my love for you. As any mother, I wanted the best for you. I believed that you would have been better dead than alive, because being a slave is not the life I intended for you to have. I wanted all my children to live in peace and freedom. I know what it was like to be a slave; I would describe it as being hell. Not only was I beaten, raped and tortured, but I was also treated worse than an animal. I did toiling chores day and night, receiving no recognition or respect in return. The life that I lived did not even make it worth being alive. I needed to escape, for I did not want my children to live this life, I had to ensure there life was better.
This is probably hard for you to believe since you may be wondering why I killed you so violently if I loved you so dearly. Let me explain my situation at the time so that you can understand that my act was of love and not hate filled, nor was I crazy at the time. I had many emotions running through my head, and I was not thinking straight. As I was in refuge, I was being hunted for by my Massa, his nephew, a Sheriff, and a salve catcher. As soon as I saw them approaching me, my heart began to pound. I knew that if he were to capture me, he would have sent us back to Sweet Home. I could not let him do that, my only choice was to kill you. My hands were trembling as I beat your brothers profusely with a shovel. Next, I held you, your tiny black eyes, from which tears of fear rolled, starred into mine. I will never forget the confused and fearful look on your innocent face. Reluctantly, I slit you throat. Before I could smashed Denver’s head into the wall, a friend, Stamp Paid, arrived in time to rescued Denver and stop me. The pain and suffrage in jail was not as hurtful as the pain I felt for having killed you.
Both your brothers and Denver survived and are still alive today, but unfortunately, you were the only child that died. Beloved, you are the piece of my life that is missing; you complete me. But, I must be forgiven for my deed, for I will always have the thought of my daughter loathing me for what I have done, not understanding that I love her and what I did was in her benefit. And so I ask you, Beloved, to forgive me and you now understand my situation as a mother. God Bless You.
Love,
