Reflection #5

It’s Friday again.

Today I took little notice of the protestors around the clinic today, they were there, but they were not what caught my attention. As I got down the side of the building where the driveway is, I noticed a couple today.  They were standing by a door which I assume is the entrance to the clinic since there are no doors on the street sides of the structure. There were a couple of protestors that were posted on the sidewalk next to the driveway, one protestor was holding her sign, and had pamphlets in her hand held out towards the couple. Of the couple, the girl stood with her back to the protestors, he stood by her looking at the ground.

Why were they there on the outside of the building? Were they trying to decide to go through with an abortion? Were they there for an unrelated reason? How did they feel having those people on the sidewalk watching them? Did they feel judged, shamed, or did they feel like they had options? Did they feel hope or hopeless?

How do we show hope, how do we show enough love for someone to trust us with something so delicate? How can we make a difference to those faced with this decision?

When are we the person with the sign on the edge of the sidewalk, and when are we the couple facing decisions?

Moving forward

The months following that day were focused on putting the past few months behind me.  I spent my time trying to find my purpose, trying to find my way, still trying to find that normalcy.

During the time that I was becoming attached to this man in my life, we began to declare our love for each other.  Did I know what that meant; did I know how to love, did I know what it meant to return love? Not really, what I had learned from past relationships was distorted, what I had seen in media was of little help, and my parents relationship was not much to model after, but at this point in my life this relationship was the only semi stable thing I had. Did he know how to love, did he know how to deal with a teen searching for meaning, did he realize where this was going, was he searching too? What ever the connection between us was, it was the glue that was holding us together.

With the attraction and connection between us, the transition of me moving in had occurred. I don’t remember if he asked me to move in and it was something deliberate or if it just happened over a period of time with me staying over and me bringing more and more of my stuff over a little at a time. I really don’t remember, but by the time the holidays had come and gone, my 17^th birthday had passed and I had been living with him full time for a few months.  

I don’t really know where I spent the holiday season that year, my memory of that is completely gone. But at some point during the first few months of separation from my family things began to heal. Mom and my brother had moved out from the house across the street to a small house not far from there, and we began having visits that felt more like we were a family again. Dad and his girlfriend had moved out of the immediate area, and one day I looked out the window of our apartment to see my dad parked out front on the street.  I went out and sat in the car with him and we spent time talking, crying and restoring the relationship between us too. But there was a new dynamic, now I came in tow with a man and two children.

I had grown up close to my grandparents, weekly visits and parties, sleep overs, camping with all the aunts and uncles and cousins. But they were all left behind in Oregon a few years earlier, and they were not close to the turmoil that was happening in my family home, so restoring these relationships came with its own set of challenges. I have no idea as to how long it had been since I had seen either of my grandmothers.  As things began to heal with my parent I longed to restore my relations with my grandmothers as well.

So with my first attempt to introduce my new family to my Dad’s mom, I brought the four of us down for a weekend visit in mid February.  I assumed that we would sleep together like we did at home, but my beloved church going grandmother gave me the twin bed in the sewing room, and set up him with the kids in the other spare room. She made it very clear what she thought of our living arrangement.  During that visit she told me “if you are going to live with him, you might as well marry him”. In conversations after we returned home we began to talk about marriage and shopping for rings too. Because we didn't go about things in a traditional manor, nothing seemed to flow like it should. There was no formal courtship, there was no real dating, no formal proposal, things just kind of happened. So just a couple of weeks later we were married. 

Reflection #4

Taking on a project like this brings out a multitude of emotion, with each paragraph typed more emotion unfolds. Through all of this I've watch my blood pressure creeping up and even spiking quite high, and anxiety to go with it, so yesterday required a trip to the doctor.  She said that all the stress of this has worn down my adrenal glands and they can't keep up with all the emotion....so up goes the blood pressure from the out of control emotions.

I feel very fortunate to have a loving, caring doctor who shares my faith in God, she has allot of insight I respect and she is not afraid to confront me when I need it, even when I don't want to face it.  After sharing my project with her, shedding a load of tears, she looked me in the eye and told me that even though I say I've forgiven myself, she can see that I have done that with my head, but now I have to do that in my heart before I can fully accept any forgiveness.  I say I can accept the forgiveness of others, but forgiving myself for this is a whole different story. We all have junk in our closets that we struggle with,  may it be abortion or something else it doesn't matter what it is, it's the learning how to cope with it, that's the not so easy part. 

So she gave me a shot in my back side and sent me home with some treatment for my over worked adrenals,  and a couple of assignments that are going to be the rough part.  Look out Kleenex this is going to be a wet one.

This has been my journey, and will continue to be so.

Realizations

It was only a few days between the trip to the clinic, and the actual loss of the baby, but during that period a multitude of things occurred.


When my parents married, my mom was three months pregnant with me. So somewhere deep inside myself I didn't want to be her.  I didn't want that stigma associated with it, I didn't want to be that girl that had to get married, so an abortion was my solution. After the trip to the clinic  I was deeply confused as to what to do, if I had medical insurance to cover going to the hospital for the procedure, I was going to still have to tell my parents since they were the one who would have the insurance information, and at that point I didn't even know if I had any coverage and if I did would cover an elective procedure.


Assuming I was pregnant, and the option of an abortion was off the table I found myself with an intense need to be Daddy's girl again. To be sitting in his study, pouring over books, doing homework, or laying on the living room rug playing board games. Playing adult wasn't so much fun anymore, I knew I had to face what I had done and tell Dad.
The father and I drove to the restaurant where my Dad worked. He worked most nights and I was so desperate to see him, I couldn't wait till he had a free night away from the restaurant. I remember standing in a small area off the side of the dining room, telling him that I had tried to have an abortion that was unsuccessful, and that I was pregnant.  Having him wrap his arms around me, holding me and crying. The father of the child  told  my father that he would take responsibility for it and with little else to be said, we were gone. I don't remember if we talked about marriage,  or how we were going to handle it, it was very brief, I was no longer Daddy's girl, I had to be responsible for my choices now, not because Dad told me so, I just knew.
I never thought about how that night might of affected him. If it drug up old memories of what he faced with my mom. I can only imagine what went through his mind that night. I only  knew for that brief moment, I needed my Dad. I'm so sorry for putting him through that that night.


At that point I was somewhat estranged from my mom, after she called me a slut and the TV out the window episode, I couldn't wrap my mind around talking to her. I couldn't ignore the hypocrisy of her calling me names, knowing that she was pregnant with me when she got married, so in my mind I "had" become her and I didn't have the words to tell her what had happen, I didn't know how to put the fragments together. Sometime between the upheaval of all of that and the trip to the clinic, I had moved into the apartment with the father and his kids, completely dropped out of school, and assumed full time duties as a wife and mother.  I didn't think about what feelings all of this might have stirred up in my mom, I just knew I couldn't deal with her just yet.

~~~~~~~~~~

After the procedure,  the doctor told me because of what they had done,  I should have some spotting, but not a full monthly cycle, since I was still  pregnant that would stop in a few days. Well I didn't know exactly what spotting meant, but looking back at it, I was having some pretty heavy bleeding, but in my head this was fine and it would be over soon. In that short time of acceptance that I was going to have a baby, I found an attachment to the new life that was now part of me, an excitement and anticipation, I had a new purpose to my life. How that was all going to pan out I had no idea, but it was something to hang on to.


I was home alone attempting to resume my life as it had become and that day found  more than just spotting, there was a few lumps of tissue that I knew were not normal, I knew what I was looking at, and that the procedure had been more successful then they had assumed. I remember sitting alone in the bathroom holding myself and crying. It was done.

Reflection #3

Last night I spent over an hour sharing the details of this blog with my new pastor and his wife, one so they would not be shocked if it came out through other sources, and two for their support.

After spending time with them I found myself drawn to searching the Internet for Abortion, and really see what was out there.  I'm not sure why I had never done this before, but I'm positive it had to do more with my need to stuff the event down and ignore it. But this morning I went to Google and just typed "Abortion", and I found page after page of info on what an abortion is in medical terms, ads for places to get it done, horror stories of abortions gone bad, articles supporting it, and many, many stories like mine.

As I read the little snippets for each site listed, I did find an interesting theme running through many of the sites. Any of the sites that had anything to do with women who had had an abortion they called them "Abortion Survivors".

I feel guilt, I have shame, and I take responsibility for my choice.

Am I survivor? I'm not sure, you don't call an alcoholic a survivor, but a person in recovery, I was the one who made a choice, nothing was done to me without my consent, even if it had been forced on me, I walked into that clinic and allowed it to happen. Is this a disease that I don't have control over, no....am I in recovery, yes.

The deed.

Obviously with two children, he had been previously married.  He had suffered through a rough divorce, which he had fought for custody of his kids and won.  He got married to her due to the fact she was pregnant, but the relationship was wrought with difficulties.  They had a second child, drinking, arrests and after less than five years she began cheating on him and they eventually split. There had been several woman he had been involved with during the year since the divorce was final, but nothing had lasted more than a short time. Looking back, he was as screwed up as I was at that point, searching for love, searching for connection, normalcy.


The news of my pregnancy brought only minimal reaction, and said he would go along with whatever I decided.

~~~~~~~~~~

It had been only six years since the Supreme Court made the decision to legalize abortion, and  the TV seemed to be full of it.  They reported it on the news, and in the papers, it was talked about at school, it was a woman's right, it was her body, it was her choice.  All of this on the heals of the Hippie movement, free love, drugs and a war that had been going badly. I grew up watching the model families on TV, Leave it to Beaver, Father Knows Best, and the new twist of a blended family on The Brady Bunch, but even that held true the family structure. Then as I headed into my teen years watching the late 60's and 70's unfold before me it was all about doing your own thing, and going against that traditional family unit. Living together, independence, personal rights, things I heard, but truly didn't understand. But now as a pregnant teen, all these rights gave me options.  I didn't have to feel guilty to be an unwed mother, I had control over my body, I had choices.


In spite of everything that had happened over the months preceding the pregnancy, the core of me was still Daddy's little girl. All my behavior was all laid to bare, being pregnant was proof of my actions.  Even with Dad's absence, I could feel nothing but guilt and shame regarding my behavior. I would be a disappointment to him, he would have a daughter who was dirty, one who didn't live up to the expectations. The expectation of our family, the church, his expectations for his daughter. 


Abortion, a trip to a legal doctors office, a simple procedure, and back to life as you knew it. A legal solution to the guilt and shame, or inconvenience.  No one has to know, no one has to be disappointed, no one has to take responsibility for their actions. For some it's a way to clear away a traumatic event, a rape, a bad relationship, even at times forced by the guy to cover his part in the situation.   A simple procedure to clear it all away. 


They debate as to when conception is considered a child, when it's a lump of tissue verses a fetus, and I don't begin to know the answers to those questions. But I know that by the time I had missed my monthly cycle I was able to have a positive result on a pregnancy test, which was enough evidence for me that I was carrying a life inside me that was not mine, a life I was not prepared for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I only had  to look in the yellow pages under Abortion to find the local clinic that performed the procedures. I arranged an appointment and drove myself to the office on the scheduled day. I remember the waiting room, white walls,  cold tile floors, walking to the counter, cash payment in advance. Sitting in the waiting area, being ushered into the small room and ask to strip from the waist down, put on a gown, and wait on the table where the procedure would be performed. They explained what was going to happen, I would feel a pinch, there would be a machine suctioning out the tissue that needed to be removed and I would go home, simple enough. Except for the fact that I had never a female exam before, I had never had a male doctor I had never meet before and a couple of nurses in a room with me, looking at me in what were all my private places doing things I had never had done. 


Well upon the insertion of several instruments, what was to be a pinch was a sharp pain, and after a couple more tries, and more sharp pains they said the would be unable to complete the  procedure with out hospitalization, my anatomy was not suited for their type of abortion, I would need to be anesthetized to properly complete the abortion. So with that I dressed and left the facility, assuming I was still pregnant. Little did I know that they had done enough damage that my body aborted the pregnancy at home several days later.

Now what?

Well in all honesty, my memory of the time is very fractured, I don't know how much  my mind has just blocked out some of the details, or God has granted me the peace to let some of it go, but I do remember enough. 


Things were in a perpetual stage of flux by the end of that summer. Dad had moved out and Mom moved back into the house with my brother and myself. I had virtually given up hanging out with most my friends from school, I had lost all interest in anything that was remotely what an average 16 year old girl was interested in. I still "lived" at home, but it had become somewhere to sleep at night. I ended up loosing my job at the daycare center due to poor attendance from staying home to watch "his" kids if they were home sick or needed to go to a doctor appointments, whatever, so he ended up pulling the kids out of the daycare center and I ended up become a full time sitter for him. This furthered my opportunity to  slide into the roll of the housewife & mom, cooking meals, cleaning, and "other" wifely duties. 


On the down side of all of that, if my mom needed me for something she had become accustomed to finding me across the street. One day the I was in laying on his bed with him and we were talking and messing around a bit while the kids were playing in the front room, with my blouse partially unbuttoned I became alarmingly aware my mom was standing the doorway of the room.  I don't remember all that she began screaming about, but I clearly remember her calling me a Slut, and at some point in the ranting she began crying and ran from the apartment. She went back to the house, straight to my bedroom on the second story which happened to be on the front of the house and proceeded to throw my recently purchased portable television out the window. As she was doing this I was grabbing my stuff and following behind her just in time to see my TV flying out the window and exploding on the front lawn, that event I remember clearly. Needless to say, that confrontation cooled how freely I spent my time across the street for a while.


When September rolled around I remember starting my junior year of high school at the local public school. Because of registering late most of the classes I might have wanted to take were full so I was stuck in the classes that had room to take me.   A couple of my cousins attended that school, so I attempted to fit in with their friends, but that was proving to be an uncomfortable fit.  With little interest in the classes I was taking or the kids I was meeting, it was very easy that only few weeks into the school year I was finding reasons to miss school.  Upset stomach, headache, bad cramps...whatever I drummed up that morning that would keep me home for the day. Mom was off at work, which gave me an easy out when it came to skipping school.


By that point I had a key to the apartment and that was my usual place to spend my time, it had become a comfortable arrangement for both of us, and a mutual caring had been building between us. I would have dinner cooked when he came home with the kids and would stay until late in the evenings. We were working as a family unit, bathing kids and getting them to bed, doing laundry, I was even balancing his checkbook and helping with paying the bills.


It was mid-fall that I came to the realization I was pregnant.

Reflection #2

It's been two weeks now, and the tears are coming lest frequent, and a new strength is taking its place. I continue to find women connecting to and/or moved by what I'm doing and their words keep me typing. This process has started a conversation with my husband and my family that seems to be bring a bit of peace in all of us.

Again it's Friday and I've been to the post office. Today brought disappointment to me, no different than any other day as far as the gathering around the clinic, but today they filled the sidewalk and corner with condemnation and shame.  Not my shame, but shame to anyone heading for that building.

I've noticed that they have a ring leader, they pull up along side the curb and open the back end of their van and there sits a stack of signs and the volunteers for that day gather around the car and pick out the signs they want to hold that day.

One woman stood on the corner her sign said "Abortion stops a beating heart", her rosary beads in her hand, dangling in front of her sign, she was smiling and chatting with another woman as if they were at a social event. A wash of disappointment is all I feel.

Where is hope...

The summer of 79...

Yes is sounds like it should be the name of a song or a title to a movie, but instead it was my life.

It was mid June and I was busy working at the daycare center, I began to think about what life was going to be like at the local public high school and keeping my eyes open for my next steady relationship.  Knowing I was changing schools in the fall, it seemed like the friends I had, began to dwindle, I had no reason be involved with the pre-fall activities they were gearing up for, and had no interest in pursuing any of the male attractions from my old school knowing it would be strained attending different schools, so I started my summer out with what some would call a clean slate, but for me it was bit more like a blank slate. 

When I composed the post on "Life before", I couldn't remember how I had met the guy that was in his 20's from that summer, and as I've been working on this post it came to me that he was working at the center with me.  I don't recall just when he started, or even what he did there, but I remember him in the class rooms with us at different times. I remember being attracted to him and being flirty with him, disappointed to realize he was only returning the attention in order to get some action with no true depth of affection attached to it. 

~~~~~~~~~~

I had gone into Seattle that day, as I recall to have lunch with my Mom downtown somewhere near the bank. I was getting quit independent at that point and felt very comfortable riding the bus into town, wandering the streets window shopping and hanging about waiting for mom to take her lunch break, and for a while after till I was in  the mood to head for home. 

The weather was comfortably warm, so I had decided that I would wear what was popular at the time a thin knit wrap around dress that was somewhat fitted.  I knew it was one that drew attention in all the right places, and wearing it downtown had its advantages. Men who open doors for you, give up their seats on the bus, and give a you second look with little recognition to the fact that you are only a 16 year old girl. 

It was probably mid afternoon before deciding to climb on a bus and work my way home that day, and we were probably half the way home when the trouble started. I don't recall when the man sat down behind me, but it didn't take long to realize it was going to be a rough ride home.  The wrap around dress fit nicely as long as I was standing up, but sitting on a cramped bus seat the overlap in the front seemed to have a mind of its own.  So I had been spending a fair amount of my time tugging the v-neck together to avoid gaping and pulling on the skirt portion to keep my legs covered. The guy behind decided that he was liking the show, and thought he deserved a little more. He started leaning forward and making little comment, "hey baby, you don't have to do that, you can give us a little peak, go ahead and leave that skirt open, it's okay baby....". I thank God for the bus driver that day. He seemed to realize that the guy behind me was looking for trouble and that I was not comfortable with his comments. At the next stop the driver called out the guy and kicked him off the bus and moved me to the front seat and proceeded to talk with me the rest of my ride home. So that started my attraction to a bus driver.

~~~~~~~~~~

Somewhere in the mix of all this craziness, a new family appeared at daycare center, the father was attractive, and he was there everyday dropping off and picking up his kids. I took notice of him, but had no idea if there was a wife, he was much older than any of the others I had been drawn to, and he would show up in the heat of pick up time, so there was little opportunity for interactions. So I worked, rode the bus and kept moving on.


The 4th of July had rolled around, Dad was living at the house with his girlfriend at that point, he had left school and taken a job managing a local restaurant that was on the water front. I was doing my best to be a sufficient pill to his girlfriend, and in spite of my behavior she had asked me to go down to the to the restaurant and then see the fireworks that were going to be shot off there on the water. Well I said I needed to change and I don't know what she thought I said, but one way or another she took off and I ended left alone at house that night with nothing to do. Hanging around the house was not that big a deal, and at one point I was sitting in my bedroom window watching a family in the parking lot of the apartments across the street from our house when I recognized the kids and the dad of the new family at the center...so being a typical teen open to opportunities to make some extra cash I decided to offer my services as a babysitter to them next time I saw them at the center.


So now with an excuse to approach the new dad I had a chance to check him out a bit closer and offer my babysitting services from the convenience of being across the street. With no need because his girl friend lived with him, things were reduced to quick hello's and minimal chit chat here and there, until he approached me a couple weeks later needing a sitter.  His girlfriend had moved out and he needed to work overtime that weekend and needed someone to watch the kids.


So I arrived that Saturday morning, got the low down on all the rules and emergency contacts and off to work he went. I did my usual of hanging with the kids, a little house cleaning and fixed the meals for the kids.  After he returned home, I headed back across the street to return again the next morning to do it all again. But when he returned home the second evening something had changed.  He was tired from working the extra hours so he decide that he was going to take the kids to dinner and he wanted to know if I wanted to join them. So I knew with Dad down at the restaurant most evenings there wasn't much going on at home, so I figured why not. 


Sitting at dinner, we managed to talk and talk that night and there was a strange connection regardless of the 13 year age difference. When we returned to the apartment, we put the kids to bed, and continued to sit and talk.  But as it got late, I knew I needed to get home, so he walked me to the door, we stepped out on to the porch and he reached out and kissed me, which in full comic form, turned around in shock and walked into the support post for the upstairs! Fully embarrassed I side stepped the post and kept walking.


I started getting rides home from work with him, hanging around the apartment, cooking meals for them (they were living on TV dinners, boxed mac & cheese, Ramem  noodles and hot dogs), and he offered to teach me to play chess.  So we would spend time in the front room, curtains open with nothing to hide, attempting to look as innocent as possible. We were just hanging out, but as you can figure when you are spending allot of time with someone, one thing lead to another.  But he didn't force me, he didn't pressure me to do anything I wasn't ready for, and I was comfortable and trusted him enough that taking things beyond my normal boundaries felt okay, and giving myself sexually seemed like what I should do. I had basically stopped attending church and all my time and energy became focused on this man and his children.  We were becoming this domestic family, the normalcy I was seeking was found in playing house with this man across the street. Yet I was still going home across the street every night, knowing that I would be starting school soon, very soon.

reflection

I've had my blog for seven days now.  I never realized I could cry so much, or even had so much to say. I know that where I'm going with this and the parts of my life I need to share with this, will bring pain to my family and I can only say that I'm sorry and ask their forgiveness.  But I think they all understand why I need to do this.  


I believe God gave me a empathic heart.  With every post I'm not only sharing me, but I'm writing to someone, and on most accounts so far, it has been for specific people. I will never say who is on my heart at that moment, but the pains and stories that are coming to me seem to continue to feed the words on each page. So far, as this has begun to filter out, I have felt massive amounts of support and love from my friends and family, for which I am very grateful. And to my astonishment, I'm having new doors open that I never knew were there in my existing relationships. I'm finding a deeper closeness to each person after every conversation, both with the women and men in my life. I'm also touched by the opens of each one that has begun to share their stories with me.


I knew deep inside myself this was a task I needed to undertake, but never dreamed the lives that would be affected by it so quickly and still can not fathom where this will go. As I continue to take this journey, I hope you will continue to travel it with me. I pray that you will too see how close we are as humans, how easily it is to encourage or discourage those around us. How sometimes the smallest thing, will have the biggest impact.


Thanks for listening.

Daddy's Girl and Boys

When things fractured at home and the life that you knew as normal is gone, you don't realize that the back of your mind is seeking that normalcy in every relationship you are exposed to.

Growing up in a Christian family, doing the church thing, attending a Christian school, having a Dad who was planning on being a minister I was a mix of good girl crossed with the rebellious preachers kid. I was drawn to trouble, but in the back of  my mind a always seem to know better and for the most part did the right thing. In my mind I was "Daddy's little girl", I looked up to my Dad for everything.  Thanks to hanging over the fender of our blue Suburban I understand what a double barrel holly carburetor is and does, I grew up knowing the use for radial arm saws, how to fix things, how a whole Sunday afternoon could be spent playing board games, how to clean smelt, fish, garden and how to decorate a Mother's Day cake from hanging with my Dad. While he was in bible college I loved spending evenings with him in his study/office each of us doing our homework, or if he was going to the college to work or study I would gladly tag along. So every time I had to choose between right or wrong my decision was rooted deeply in if it would be a disappointment to my Dad. Mom was around, but Dad was the one to please.

When it came to guys, the line between being good and going to far was a bit blurred. I was okay with making out in the backseat of a car, but going beyond a bit of exploration was more than I was prepared for. Yes, mom had had "The Talk" with me about becoming a woman, but it left allot of room for interpretation when it came to the boys, more was learned from movies and reading which all came with a distorted idea of what a loving relationship was to look like (remember we are talking the 70's here). 


Attending a small Christian high school in some respects is somewhat like being in a protective bubble which kept us safe from "sin" in the outside world. We we not allowed close contact, no dances, or public displays of affection. (Hence the swats I took from the principal for getting caught behind the chapel kissing a young man after returning from a school function on a Saturday!) But despite their attempts to control a high school full teens with raging hormones, there were plenty of couples and dating going on and I right in the middle of it.

During my sophomore year I dated a senior for a time, and things were pretty serious, at least in my mind. He had car, so was easy for us to do allot together, hanging with our friends, movies, boating on the lake, sneaking onto the closed beach with beer and spending time in the backseat of his car. As things would start getting beyond that level of comfort I could handle, it usually managed to be time to go home and I could maintain what I had concluded as my good girl status.  So I'm sure out of his frustration that relationship cooled, and he ended up transferring out of our school. I stayed in contact with him off and on for a time, during which he dated a girl from his new school that proved to be willing to give him what he was "really" wanting from a girl.  But once that ended he came back around and found me again, and after a few normal dates he pulled into an secluded back road with a pullout and after a time of our usual making out, he forced me to perform oral sex on him using the argument that it's aright, the other girl would do it for him, and if I really loved him....it didn't take much after that to put an end to that relationship. 

That experience started a chain reaction in me when it came to my relationships. I began to associate the love I would receive was equal with what I was willing to do, and I also began to feel shame. Based on the raising I had received, the bible teaching at church and the things that were drilled into me at school, in my head I was becoming one of "those girls". It didn't matter that that one act was forced upon me, it didn't matter that we ended the relationship, I did something that was outside marriage, some that you only heard about the bad girls doing so I couldn't tell anyone, I would be a sinner, I was dirty. 

That school year came to an end, Dad was back living at the house with his girlfriend and I was out in left field somewhere.....struggling with my shame and dealing with a competition for my Dad's time and attention I didn't realize I was having, but when I reflect on it now it was obvious I had begun seeking validation in men. If I wore a little tighter shirt, batted my eyes a bit more, used a coy smile, I could draw the attention of a man pretty easily, and the next few months proved that.

telling...

This morning is a deviation from the story. It's still part, but a current event of the weekend.  I couldn't share this yesterday, it was still to raw at the that point.


Anyone can start a blog, not tell anyone and it's just a journal you keep with minimal consequences if you just decide to just give it up. But telling means someone is watching, someone knows if you just give it up. When I made the choice to do this I knew I had to tell, I needed to tell my family, those whom I would be writing about so they would be prepared for what might come of all of this. And to ask for prayers from some dear friends who would see me though this, and help hold me accountable.  


So I shared my link with my trusted friends, told my husband and my two sons, but the most difficult moment was in telling my father.  To have him standing there, seeing tears well up in his eyes, I am dragging him back to that time with me.  To drag all the painful feelings raw and ragged back to the surface.  He was told about the abortion after I had done it, but it has never been talked about since that time. So this is going to painful, way beyond me, but it is part of my journey. I can only pray for my family as they are being taken along for this ride.


Know that this act is not just about you and the child who's life never had a chance. Know that it stretches far beyond what you realize.

Life before...

It was 1979, I was 16 years old living is a suburb north of down town Seattle.  I was a sophomore attending a small Christian High School, was on the chapel committee, student council, took photography classes, excelled in math and science, attended basketball games, had a boyfriend and worked part-time at the Christian school's daycare center.  We attended church several times a week, Sunday services mid week youth group and bible studies. 
My father was in bible college studying to be a minister, while my mom worked full time for a bank in downtown Seattle. I spent time hanging around the college campus, using the college library and I was the designated babysitter for the married students too. So as far as high school years where going, things were going pretty good for me. I had been planning on going to college to be a CPA, have a career, to be married, family etc...I had dreams.


And as it often goes, there was a divorce and life for me as I knew it turned upside down. I guess because I was living in the middle of it all I guess I didn't realized that there were issues with my parents, but when you are an active teen, the last thing you are thinking about your parents relationship. So Dad moved out for a while and left Mom, my brother and I in our house, then Mom decided she needed to start over so she moved out and Dad moved back in. By that time school had gotten out for the year and I was told that due to the split I would no longer be attending the private school with my friends, and I would be transferred to the public high school in the fall, at least that was the plan.


I was able to shift to full time work that summer at the daycare center and was doing my best to cope with the strange changes at home. I had broken things off from my high school boyfriend and though I didn't realized what was going on in my head, I found myself drawn to much older guys at that point, which looking back at it now most likely some of it was compensation for the distance I was feeling from my father during the divorce, and even before he moved out as things became more strained at home.  I went out with one of the college guys I meet at my Dad's s college, I remember spending time with a guy that could have been in his early 20's, but they had one thing on their minds which which at that point I wasn't ready for. I was drawn to a bus driver who defended me when a guy on the bus was giving me a bad time, with him I started making sure I rode his bus ever chance I could.  I would ride to the end of the route and back, sitting in the front right seat so we could talk the whole time. He seemed interested, but that never had the chance to go anywhere. It was during that time that the man that altered my life appeared on the scene.

The Unspoken Post-abortion Experience

I dedicate this blog to all women – to those who have been there, those who are thinking about going there; and the women who will never go there so that they may understand.  And to the men who stand behind, beside or may be rejected by these women.

When  a woman, no matter if they are young or old, is faced with an unwanted pregnancy she may go to her doctor, a clinic, the father, to a family member or a friend seeking advice, an opinion, reassurance or support.  But in reality she will be presented with a list of options laced with opinions, religious beliefs, medical pros and cons, that she will have to weed through and use as her ruler from which she will use to make her decision.  Some of these options will be presented with explanations of the immediate results of the choice, but you will rarely see how it might affect you months, years, or even decades later.

I’m forty-seven year old mother of two adult sons, and two adult step children.  My husband and I have six grandchildren with the hopes of many more to come.  Over thirty years ago I made the choice to terminate my first pregnancy with no knowledge of the impact it would have on me or my family for years to come.  Even today, a comment, an image or a memory can cause my throat to constrict, bring tears to my eyes, or tightening in my chest.  You might say that I’m overly emotional, I’m holding on to the past, a drama queen, or even good old crazy, but I know better.  Until you have walked in my shoes, or looked through my eyes you will never understand, but I hope through the journey of this blog you will come to see and feel what I do, and for those of you who have been down this road, you know.

Several years ago I attended a weekly post-abortion class for women who are trying to cope with the impact of this decision on their lives.  Each of us attended looking for the same results, but each of us had a different road we had to travel to get there.  Each of us had a different story behind our reason to abort, as well as how it impacted us.  As we talked each week in those classes we came to realize that knowing what we know now, we would have made different choices.

In this blog I’m going to share my story with you, as well as the stories of other’s who have agreed to share so that women who have endured an abortion know that they are not alone, and to allow woman young and old who are facing these choices, the opportunity to see what they might experience if they take this road.  I also want to share with you story of a young man, who endured knowing that a life that he had produced had been taken with little regard to his thoughts or feelings. 

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It’s Friday, and I’m making my daily trek to the post office to pick up the mail for the company in which I am employed. 

This is a simple enough task, drive to the local facility approximately a mile from our  office, extract mail from our box and return to the office, process and  distribute mail and continue with my tasks of the day.

But Friday’s are different.  As I come down the block toward the post office I can see them already.  Standing on the corner, wrapping down the side of building, there for the weekly vigil, hoping their presence will change the mind of next woman contemplating entering the clinic which they surround.  The building they stand vigil around is a plain, nondescript brick building, no noticeable signage to welcome you in, or explain the purpose of the business.  I drove past it many times, unaware of what loomed behind those walls until the first time I saw them, and then I realized what I wasn’t seeing. The signs the people carry offer an array of information.  “Jesus Loves You”, “Abortion stops a Beating Heart”, “We can Help You”.  A mix of condemnation, guilt, and hope all being presented by a group that feel they are doing some form of good by standing there week after week.  They appear to be a group of church going, concerned citizens out to save the world, one baby at a time.

As I look at them week after week, I begin to recognize their faces; most of them are older people, most likely retired.  Ladies in slacks and dresses, older gentlemen with trench coats, lots of graying hair, parental, grand parent types, smiling, some waving as I drive by. A formal looking group, a group that don’t begin to look like they could relate to me or the woman they hope to save by standing there. Some days as I turn the corner knowing that they are there I find myself unable to look them directly, I focus on the road ahead of me, getting back to the office, anything but acknowledging the fact that they are there. I never know from week to week what emotion they will stir or how they are going to make me feel.  There would have been a time that I would have changed my route to avoid seeing them.

One week there was one who was different, a younger woman, closer to my own age with a different sign. A sign I connected with, “I’ve been in your shoes, talk to me”.  She was the only one who seem to me as one that might do some good.  But I haven’t seen her for a while now.

I find myself questioning myself now, what would I have done if others like them had been there that day. Would I have gone though with it, would I have talked with these strangers holding the signs, would I turn and walk away as if to make it look like I was there for a different purpose?

All of these thoughts swirl around in my head in the few moments each week that I see them there, standing vigil, trying to save the life of an unborn child. I then turn the corner and they disappear out of my rear view mirror.

As I drive the mile back to the office my mind drifts to my current reality, the meeting I need to get to, the papers that need filing, bills to pay, phone calls to be made, miles and light years from the memories and reminders of past.

Most days pass now with little thought of those days, but more and more lately the need to record the events of that time, to take stock of the things that make up who I am now, to coin a popular term, to “Pay it forward” and share this with you the impact an abortion can have.

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It’s been two and a half years now, and my trips past the clinic have been much of the same, but yesterday seemed to bother me more than normal.  One simple man on the corner, one simple sign, but today those words seem suffocating and pressing in on me. What could I say to them, what would make a difference to them, to the woman in the clinic…to me. I drove around the block the opposite way to avoid eye contact with the man on the corner. Wondering how I could make an impact? I've started to document these feeling and thoughts several times before, that I would write a book, change the world....blah, blah, blah...but as I lay in bed in the early hours of the morning I decided that today was the day.  Instead of doing something grand, I sit here now in the quite hours before my family rises, starting a journey not knowing where it will lead. I may not impact anyone, but I feel it will change my life one way or another.

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I want this to be a place where others can share their stories, thoughts, fears, pains.  A safe place where we see each other as humans that have feelings and a heart.  The act of abortion is beyond some pleasant trip to the clinic and everything is all better....it is a place of discomfort, shame and reality.  Life happens to all of us, we don't always get good advice or make the right choices and once those choices have been acted upon, we are left with the aftermath that we are far from prepared for.