One man reflects on his aborted child:
“For some instinctual reason, or just imaginatively, I’ve come to believe that it was a boy, a son whom I wanted killed because, at the time, his existence woulds have inconvenienced me. I’d had my fun. He didn’t fit into my plans.
His name, which is carved on my heart, was Thomas.
I still grieve for little Thomas. It is an ocean of grief… when I go up to the river on vacation this summer, he won’t be going boating with me…. he won’t be lying on the grass by the tent at night, looking at the starry sky and saying, “what’s that one called, Dad?”
Because there was no room on earth for Thomas.
Phil McCombs “Remembering Thomas” The American Feminist, Spring 1998. Reprinted from The Washington Post 2/3/95
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