Grief letter

Dear other children,

I think about you often, almost everyday, and I see you in my dreams at night. I often wonder who you were, what your names were, and what your story was. Like me you were stripped of a name, a voice, an identity. We spent so much time together in the same place, we’re tortured together, and slept in cages together, and yet, I never heard your voices. In my moments of excruciating pain I’d see you and wish I could save you along with myself. When are abusers pitted us against each other in challenges and I won, I’d watch in horror as you were tortured as punishment while I watched unharmed. So many times I look back on those moments and wish I had lost on purpose so I could have been tortured in your place. Other times we were forced to stand in a line and watch innocent children slaughtered in front of us. We were told we were the best, and that’s why we were chosen to live, but I’m sure you felt the same way I did, sick with disgust and guilt.

Over the years as an adult I wondered what you were doing or if you were okay. Recently, I received a birthday card with four Polaroid pictures of young adults in coffins, three young women and a young man. It didn’t take me long to see each of your code names written at the bottom. I know my owner sent those pictures to cause fear that I would be next, but I felt no fear for myself. Instead I felt both an incredible sadness and an intense sense of relief. Now I had an answer to a question that had been haunting me for my entire life, what happened to you.

That day, I had a service for you, I lit four candles and placed each picture next to one. Four human beings who died unseen, unheard, who died young before ever having the chance to truly live free from the pain. I talked to you that day out loud for the first time. I told you about my life the triumphs and the adventures I had lived, but also about how hard my life has been, and how many years I’d remain silent about our abuse. That day I made a promise to three other beautiful little girls and a boy. I promised you that before I died, I would tell your story, The your deaths would not be meaningless.

As I read this letter out loud to another human being, I like for them to know that I was not alone. Five children were taken into that building, five children were tortured and locked in five cages, and five children became programmed slaves. Four children died, only one child remains, and that last child will tell our story, and will make sure that we together, that we are never forgotten. I will never forget you, I will always honor you, and I will create a beautiful life for myself not just for me, but in memory of the lives that were taken from you.

Love,

  Asa