It was the first time that I saw my father drunk. He was filled with rage and anger and made it clear that I would no longer be welcome in his home if I had this child.
I spent a day in downtown Seattle in a phone booth looking through a phone book…crying and calling crisis lines, searching for help. No one had a place…a safe haven for me and my child. A few days later I sat in the doctor’s office, she pointed to a chart to show me the size of my baby…no bigger than the tip of a pen she said…very quick and simple procedure.
I hated the morning of my abortion. Everything seemed cold and removed from life. I was in a room with several other girls who also had their mothers with them. One by one we were wheeled into this room and I remember seeing this machine and hearing a loud humming sound. I wanted to leave, but all I could see was my father’s anger.
I went home and cried in my own silence for days. I hated that I couldn’t have had the same option that my birth mother gave me…for I was adopted…and I felt deep confusion over the man that was thankful for my adoption giving him and my mother a child and the father who looked down on me now for the very same situation.
Two lives died that day.
About two years later, I found myself pregnant again with the same boyfriend. We married and our son was born in the early part of 1977. It was through his pregnancy that I really felt the heaviest burden because I knew then that Life was much more than the tip of a pen… and for the first time I wept for the child I lost and not the illusion.
Healing came only after I went into counseling and understood that my child rests and waits for me in the arms of the Lord. Without that vision and belief…I would have relived this nightmare for the rest of my life. I talk as openly as I can about this loss and have tried on several occasions to encourage others to choose life.
Recently I lost a grandchild to this decision. A deep and penetrating sadness has filled our home…we were all planning for this child and supported our daughter with joy in the anticipation of this child’s birth. Without warning, life changed for her and she made the choice to end her child’s life. Now we face a different kind of grief and worry for our daughter when her emotional train wreck hits, because we know it will come. People want to use the word respect as a ploy to convince a woman it is her right to choose…but I believe that the better word is accept and that the word respect should only be used for the living.
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