Transfiguration

Do you hate me, Minister McEntee?

“I am pretty straightforward on that. I don’t believe there should be a three-day wait. I think if a woman has made a decision to actually go to a doctor or go to a hospital, it is not the first time they have thought about it,”

Helen McEntee, Minister for Justice Irish Times, Saturday July 1 2023.

Dear Helen McEntee

You think I am worthless. But you don’t know me.

I see you. Does it help, that you can’t see me?

You cannot look at me. You cannot bear to.

But I am here. Not because you bestow upon me the right to live or die. That is not your right. I am not worthless.

I am watching. Here amongst others. We have mothers.

You tell the world it’s okay to make us disappear.

But I didn’t disappear. I am here.

A piece of my mam died in forming that thought.

Not the right time, she said. Carry this cross.

But you are too late. Both of you. Because I have already been called into existence.

I am here. I should be gurgling and breathing.

Instead I am quiet. The silence is calm.

But where you are, things are not calm. Things are not peaceful.

I am worthy. I am perfect. God created me this way.

What makes you think I am not?

Are you worthy?

How are we different?

The ‘most vulnerable in society’ you say. What is vulnerable?

What is more vulnerable than a child?

Does it suit you that I am silent?

I want to love. I am perfect love. That is my purpose.

Is my love worthy? Am I not worthy of love?

What are you doing? I want to be loved.

You have a job. It is important. Are you aware?

Do you know what Justice means?

Assignment of deserved reward or punishment.

What did I do, to be deserving of punishment?

What did my mother do? She cannot undo. I am here.

I want to feel her kiss on my cheek. To breathe her smell.

I miss her heartbeat.

We lived together. It was exciting. In her I grew.

Things are quiet now. I miss her. Perhaps you could ask her, does she miss me?

You say I am worthless. What makes you so sure?

What makes you so sure that you, in turn, will not be considered worthless too?

What is Justice?

You brought your baby Vincent there. Do you love him? Is he worthy?

You are busy doing other things. What is more important than him?

You say there were comments. You call it sexism.

‘Nobody has said it to my face.’

I can empathise.

I am here. Surrounded by others. We have faces.

You say it’s okay to snuff me out. What makes you so sure?

You delude yourself that I no longer exist.

But you are wrong.

You say you are protecting ‘those most vulnerable’.

Who is more vulnerable than me?

I have no voice. But I am here.

You don’t want to hear what I have to say. I understand that, but can we have it both ways?

‘Hate crimes and hate speech’ - these things you say.

Do you hate me, Minister McEntee?

“Respect.” You say.

But you don’t respect me.

I suck my thumb, does it make you irate?

There’s a ‘generous Irish tradition’ you say, of ‘live and let live.’

A Mhuire Mháthair ‘sé seo mo ghuí. This is my prayer. I want to live.

Where is your generosity towards me?

How will you face me, when the time comes?

You can try, but you cannot erase me. I am not yours to kill.

You go against God, in spilling our blood. Are you aware?

Did I ‘insult’ you? Am I being ‘ridiculous?’

I am brave enough to put my name to my words. But I have no name that you recognise.

You say nothing, to my baby face. What does that say about you?

Vincent is changing quickly, you say. I am envious.

How long since you’ve seen him? ‘A day or two?’

He is transforming. His progress is mine. We change fast. But I am not fine.

Is my creation a fact? Or just an opinion.

How do you rate me, Helen McEntee?

Is it okay, to use violence against me?

And what of the wounds, they cut deep in my flesh. I put fists to my face but this fight is not fair.

These wounds are forever, on my form and my shape. And then I am altered, both Mam and I.

Daddy hurts, I see tears in his eyes.

Am I a sacrifice, for who and why? How did this happen, did you want me to die?

No one can hear but the world feels my cries. It’s unjust. It’s despair.

You want me here but I should be there.

In Heaven I meet her, Our Lady, she’s mine. She loves me, forever, this love is Divine.

Who will you answer to, Helen et al? I am not yours to butcher. It’s not your blood it’s mine.

This is a warning and you do not win. We are waiting, for Judgement;

Is your wage borne of sin?