Tags: abortion


Second Look-Second Chance Idol, Week 3

I've always been somewhat of a wanderer. Some would call me a kinesthetic learner, others would call me directionless. In any event, I have made my own way in life and accomplished (or failed) at whatever I set my hand to on my own terms. I've made some horrible life choices, but also have many successes to my name. I'm going on 26 and have a pretty good life all by God's grace. I have a man that loves me and who is committing himself to me forever, a lovely home, a loving (though slightly dysfunctional) family, a master's degree in the works…not a bad run for a girl who just a few short years ago was on the edge of mental collapse. I should be fulfilled and complete.

And, mostly, I am.

There is just a short, sweet phrase that has been following me around lately which is worming its way underneath my normally thick skin.

"I'm pregnant."

These are the words spoken to me by several people in my life as of late. My sister, sister-in-law, not to mention several friends and acquaintances from church are all deciding to procreate at the same time. One of my bridesmaids might even be pregnant at my wedding.

I know what everyone wants me to say. I should write about how we're all relatively young and babies suck your life away. I should write about how my first priority is my career and being successful in my chosen field (whatever that ends up being). I should write about how the female obsession over biological clocks and giving birth annoys the snot out of my liberated, feminist self.

Yet, I can't bring myself to lie.

Something deep inside my soul aches when I hear those simple words. Whenever I hold a baby, play with a friend's little ones, work with kids in my practicum experiences, or (let's be honest) pass a baby on the way to the metro, my eyes well up with the tears of longing.

I used to think I didn't want children. If you had told me I'd be so desperate to have a child ten (even five) years ago, I would have told you to get your head examined.

So what has changed?

Perhaps part of it is I'm no longer 19. I know that as we grow older, our desires and priorities shift quite a bit. It is a part of this natural process called "growing up" I keep hearing so much about.

Another aspect is that I'm far healthier (both physically and emotionally) than I've ever been (though perhaps this illustrates I still have a bit to work through before I can be cleared for parenthood). All in all, I like myself enough to believe I will be a good mother. I've managed to find (and keep) a man who will be a wonderful father which is important to me. I've worked hard to strengthen strained family relationships so that my children will have access to extended family. I've slept in my trenches and dug myself out…all in all, I've earned it.

But there is something else at the root of the emptiness that keeps finding me in spite of my rapid running.

Just after turning 21, I found myself pregnant and completely broken.
I made the choice I wish every day I could reverse.
I know God has forgiven me, and I have come so far in extending that grace to myself for taking the life of a child that had no choice. I am learning how to take this experience and help others through post abortion trauma.

But I still miss my baby. I know having another wouldn't "make up" for the life that was lost. I understand that it would be a different baby at a time in my life where I am ready to be a mother. I know that even if I had made a different choice, I still wouldn't have that child with me. He or she would be in the capable hands of parents who could give them a life I couldn't have at that time. I know I'd still be feeling this sadness and sense that my heart is missing a piece. But, I can't pretend that my desire to make things right and to prove to myself that I am a good mother (even though I wasn't the first go round) doesn't contribute to my current dilemma. It is all very muddy and full of gray empty spaces that my words are unable to fill.

For now, all I can do is smile and congratulate those in my life who have this joy I so desperately covet. I will trudge through as I always do, head held high in the midst of the storm, trying fervently not to give the infant next to me on the train a second look.

 Michicant by Bon Iver from Bon Iver (Rating: 0)

LJ Idol, Week 7, One Touch

Dear ------,

I still dream about you.

In the place between sleep and awake, I find you there, tiny and faceless. Sometimes I am in a vast forest, and I see you lying under a tree, bathed in inky shadow. Other times, I find you on an island shore, your little voice piercing the silence and salty sea air, calling out for me to save you.

I always try to reach you.

I run through the tangled woods, legs pumping furiously, heart knocking against my tightening chest.

I swim through the choppy green water, hands clawing at angry surf, lungs protesting against my attempts.

Yet I can never close the gap between us.

I awake in the dark, sweat pouring from me, angry tears spilling onto my cheeks.

My eyes long to see your precious face, and my voice begs to soothe your tears. But most of all, my arms ache to hold you, hands crying out to feel your soft skin.

I know I haven't earned this privilege; the sacred right to comfort you like a mother would. I have left you somewhere I can never go, and this is my penance. I don't deserve you.

Not even in my dreams.

A/N: Thanks to clauderainsrm for extending a bit of grace to me in the midst of a frustrating situation. I do appreciate it so.

LJ Idol Week 1, Saying Good-Bye

It’s midnight, and I sit alone on my apartment steps, the August humidity wrapped around me like a heavy blanket. I feel the judgment of the moon and stars weighing on me as they look down from their heavenly dais, their points of light cutting into me like a thousand silver needles. Two weeks have passed, but I am only now starting to glimpse the gravity of what I’ve done, the summer night sky casting a pale glow onto the ugly truth; I am a murderer.

I remember the physical anguish of that Saturday afternoon, curled up on my bathroom floor, guttural cries of pain reverberating against the white walls. The pain killers they gave me have no affect, and no one is answering the emergency pager number.

Why aren’t they answering?
When will it stop?
So this is what it feels like for something to die?

“Residual pain is normal.”
“Avoid sexual intercourse.”
“You should feel normal again in a few days.”

The dreams keep me from sleeping. Phantom cries slice through the darkness, and endless hallways lead nowhere. I never get any closer to them, but I search anyway, the screams growing louder, and yet no nearer. It is much easier to fuel myself with caffeine pills and bypass the ghosts.

This is what they call normal?

“How are you?”
“Did it hurt?”
“Do you feel different?”

There’s no scar, no mark where they removed it; only a fracture in my soul that I don’t know how to mend. Crickets hum as stale tears fill my eyes, silently falling onto my shaking hands. I realize for the first time the root of it all; I’m alone, more alone than I’ve ever been before. If sixty-seven days wasn’t enough to make it real, then why do I miss it?

I have no name, no face, not even a grave to cling too. Only bright pink and purple instruction sheets, a red stain on white porcelain, and the empty feeling in my stomach, serve as reminders of your existence. I killed a piece of myself with you, and I can never get either back.
Good-bye, little one.

A/N: Please no judgment from pro-lifers, or justification from pro-choice people...It is what it is, and I can't take it back no matter how much I want too. I simply had to post it because I know there's someone out there who has been through this, or is thinking about having an abortion. These are the aftereffects that no one tells you about...do with it what you will.