Dear Mrs. Gov. Palin: (Or is that Gov. Mrs. Palin?)
You look like a pleasant lady. You have nice hair. I'm not upset with you that your 17 year old daughter is pregnant. Congratulations on becoming a grandmother. If you played a role in firing someone because someone else hurt your sister, I can sympathize, on an elementary level. When I was in 4th grade, I bonked my teacher's grandson on the head with my fist because he was picking on my little sister. I promptly reported myself to my teacher and told her I would do it again if he did it again. He never did, so I didn't have to uphold my promise. In high school, he and I were great friends. I had a crush on his brother in 6th grade. He bought me some Sweet Honesty Avon perfume for Christmas, and I hid it from my mother for 7 months, because I feared she would be angry that I knew boys existed. Sadly, that brother was killed while riding a bicycle on a poorly lit country road a few years ago. My mother had nothing to do with the accident. I would still hurt anyone who hurts my little sister.
I think we share some things in common. I hear you have a special needs infant. From this point forward, your life will never be what you pictured. You will have many questions. You will never get the answers you want to some of those questions. You will be angry. You will wish things were different. You will watch your other children accomplish goals in life, and be sad that maybe this child will never have those same experiences.
You will need to lean on God for strength, because you will not have enough on your own power. Your faith will be tested, and you may be angry with God. That is ok. You can get through this.
Your child needs you to advocate for him. Every day. Every where. No one will ever love him like you will. He needs you.
Our country does not need you to be our vice-president. And just between you, me and the newswire fencepost, I think your theology and basic life philosophy is a little mixed up. I'm stepping out on a limb here, but I don't think the Iraq war is a task from God. Call me crazy and all, but I think maybe Mr. Bush might have pulled the wool over your eyes.
Please go home. Stay there. Take care of your baby. Come out when your brain unfreezes from the Great Alaskan Frigid Air. I think maybe we could be friends then.