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.