Finding the beginings of healing from abortion

As I've passed through life, grief and stress relating to the abortion has surfaced from time to time; but it was around ten years ago when I first really began to find healing from it all. Mind you, I said "began", it had taken several go rounds to bring me where I am today. I will not say I'm healed, or I'm recovered,  I can say that I am finding peace and forgiveness in the process.

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We had become involved in a new church in the area that was a different from the churches I had attended during my life. We met in a middle school cafeteria, all of our equipment and supplies arrived in a trailer each week and we would unload, set up, have  services, tear it all down, load it all  back into the trailer and do it all again the next week. The pastor road a motor cycle and the worship leader had done time in prison.  It was not your everyday dress up in your Sunday best, be on our best behavior and go to church kind of place, we came in our jeans and sweatshirts and worked hard to provide a service for others.  They preached out of the bible the same way our other churches had, but this church wasn't filled with judgment, it was filled with real people with real lives and struggles. 

The event that brought that home to me the most occurred during a regular Sunday service,  one of the woman in the church who I knew, but not closely got up to share her story.  From the podium she introduced herself and proceeded to tell us that she had had an abortion and that through God's grace she was forgiven. She stood there in a room of a couple hundred people and she openly shared her pain and struggle with what she had done, and how she found healing. After service dozens of people lined up to hug her and thank her for her honesty and strength to share something so private. I too stood in that line, and I was able to say "me too".

For me, that was a tearful, pain surging first step. That was the first time that I was able to feel like I could be forgiven, that there might not always be condemnation and shame. There were others even within the church, that had done what I had done and struggled like I struggle.

It was a couple of years after that day that the church had moved into a permanent facility which allowed for activities beyond the Sunday morning services, which triggered the beginning of an outreach program in the form of recovery programs. As part of their programs they had support for Alcohol and Drug Recovery, Sex Addiction Recovery, Divorce Recovery and yes, Post-Abortion Recovery.

The class was a group of three of us, the gal leading the group, with myself and one other gal who worked through the book provided and began to take steps to find healing for our choices.  We had one woman who attended a couple of times but she was not at a point where she was ready to face what she had done. When they announced that there was going to be a class on this topic, I saw gal in her early 20's with tears running down her cheek heading for the lobby. I followed her out of the church to the curb and we talked about her pain and that she was thinking about going to the class but she like the other woman was not ready and she never made it to the class. I could only pray that she did go to one of the other classes that were held later.

It was during that time that my eyes were truly opened to the volume of woman who chose the road of abortion and were faced with guilt and shame just as I was, and didn't know how to face it.

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The public outcry against abortion has quieted in the last decade or so, we've stopped hearing about it in the news, the burning of clinics and loud news worthy protests seemed to have faded into the background.  There are people still speaking out against abortion, and you still hear about it in the news from time to time, or it comes to the surface when politicians are willing to venture into the waters of pro choice/life arena, but all in all it has become the norm, an accepted form of birth control. But the poorly informed choices for unwanted pregnancies and the aftermath of suffering woman like myself seems to still go on today. How do reach these woman, how do we help in the healing process, how do we prepare them before they head into those clinics?

Reflection #7

This has been an interesting week and have a couple of things to share with you...


A friend brought into work the ultra-sound of her baby a couple of days ago. It was a typical shadowy image, but I was  amazed at what I saw.  The doctor told here that she was eight weeks and four days along, and in that image you could distinguish the head and the shape of the nose clearly in the image, and when the ultra-sound was performed they were able to hear the heart beat.


And yet it is legal for woman continue to go to clinics around the world and end the life of a child that is a cute little peanut (the mom's name for her new baby) with a face and a heart beat. 


I do understand all to well the trauma of an unexpected, unwanted pregnancy, but as I look back now it might have been different a outcome if I had know what I know now. For me, my life has always been laced with a personal relationship with God, but I don't think it takes a religious view to see that sweet little face in that ultra-sound and not know that the "lump of tissue" in that image was a child. 


As I've continued to do research for my blog I stumbled across the attached video of super model Kathy Ireland, and was impressed with what she had to say.
http://vodpod.com/watch/1528667-kathy-ireland-on-abortion

Over the last several weeks I've also been able to deal with the issue of forgiving myself.  As I sat in church a few weeks ago our pastor was speaking about friendship, and during that sermon he talked about forgiving our friends. He made a point of sharing the importance of giving forgiveness to others and in that process to not pick back up  the offence and use it against them after you have granted them forgiveness. 


So with that in mind I had to examine myself and asked myself that if I've accepted God's forgiveness, if I've forgiven myself, then I need to not continue to pick up the offense and keep using against myself in the form of guilt, shame and condemnation. So I've chosen to put down those things and move on.  I will never forget the child I gave back to God, nor the circumstance of my abortion, but I no longer need to beat myself up over it.  


My choice now is to use this experience to help others who face the choice of what to do with an unwanted pregnancy, or woman in my shoes who have experienced abortion and are trying to cope with the emotions that have welled up inside themselves. If you are one of those women, know that I am praying for you, and know I welcome being contacted by you either here on the blog, or in an email.

A guys side of things

I said in my first post that I was going to tell the story of a young man who was touched by abortion. You might think I’m going to talk about my husband and the abortion of our child, but no; this is the story of a young man that was gathered around the campfire that night in my “Breaking news” post. The young man in this story was not just one of the youth at the campout; he is my youngest son, Mark. He was not only touched by facing the fact that he had another sibling that he would never know in this life; but it was only a couple of years after that night that he was faced with the abortion of his own child.

They began dating on a choir trip they both attended during spring break of his sophomore and her freshman year of high school. They had been dating over a year when she became pregnant.

She didn’t want to be pregnant, and her parents didn’t want to deal with shame of a pregnant daughter; nor did they want her or their lives altered with a child at that point. We had a meeting of both sets of parents with the two kids to talk about what should be done, but regardless of me telling them of my abortion and the effects it had, they were set on the course they intended to take, and off to the clinic they went.

He wasn’t excited about the idea of being a father at that point in his life, but he didn’t want to see the life of the child taken either.  I remember him stretched out across his bed, me sitting on the edge trying to comfort him as he cried.  He lost a child that day, and I lost my first grandchild. It was a very difficult time for both of us and it created a bond between us that few will understand. They did manage to date for another year after that, but things deteriorated and came to an end.

When the topic of abortion as had come up since then, if he was in the room, I could see the tears well in his eyes and the constriction in his throat. His struggle is different in the fact that she made the choice and his opinion was not going to matter, he was not the one who thought it was a good idea, and he still felt the loss.

Like with my abortion, not much had been said over the years, but we’ve talked more since I began the blog, and he told me he’s more affected now when he sees a child of the appropriate age and thinks that he could have a child that age too. We have stayed in contact with the girl’s family, and we know that she married and just recently gave birth to her second child. He said her life doesn’t bother him, but he has asked the question “How is she doing herself?” Now that she has children, does she think about their child?

This fall we have attended the football games of boy whose parents we are friends with, and there son happens to be about the age of what Mark’s child would have been.  Mark is close friends with the dad, and I’ve noticed he takes great care to be around the boy and support him. He has always been good with kids over the years and has always gone out of his way with them, but I think there is an extra soft spot for this boy.

Even though Mark was only 17 at the time, I think he would have been a great dad and he will be one day when the time comes. I can’t help but be a proud mom to see the young man he has become and thankful that he was willing to let me tell his story.

Liz & Kara

During the summer between 5^th and 6^th grade my parents moved us 8-10 miles to be closer to my father’s work which forced a change schools for me. It didn’t take long for me to meet Liz and establish a close friend that I did everything with. Her parents had a small farm and we spent many hours with her brother hanging out in their barn, tormenting the animals (yes you can ride a pig, it’s not real happy about you doing it, but it can be done), riding their Shetland ponies, hanging out in the hay loft and doing chores. We had many a sleep over and if I was not at her house, she was at mine.

The following year the two of us headed off to junior high together. We stayed best friends during 7^th grade, but we mixed it up with new friends and mix of new activities that came with being out of elementary school. One of those new friends we made that year was Kara, she was the girl that everyone wanted to know, especially the boys.  She was very beautiful, long silky dark brown hair, rich brown eyes, and she had a very sweet spirit about her.  I questioned why she was friends with us we were just a couple of average girls in school and she was one of the popular girls.  But that didn’t seem to matter to Kara, we didn’t spend allot of time together, but enough to consider her a friend.  We sometimes had lunch together, and we chatted during open time in classes, she was just an over all nice girl who happened to have good looks and popularity on her side.

Liz and I had two really great years together before my family made the choice to move to Seattle, and her family bought a new farm across town which meant she was changing schools too, but our friendship didn’t end there. During the next couple of years every time my family came back to Oregon for a holiday or weekend visits or I would come and spend summers with my grandmother, I would managed to stay at least one night at Liz’s and we would fall right back into step as if we had never been apart. We would get to call each other from time to time when our parent would allow us to make a long distance phone call, and we wrote many, many letters over that time keeping up on all the news of who was dating who, and all the important stuff.

Even after I got married I would find time to come and hang out with Liz on our trips down to see the family.  We would still disappear off to her room, sit on the bed and talk for hours.  I told her about the abortion and all the details around it. She was the closest person I had, the one who would not judge me for what I had done.

A couple of years after I was married I got a letter from Liz while she was in college, and she had been with a guy and had ended up pregnant. She knew I had had my abortion and seemed to be okay, so she decided that an abortion was going to be her solution too. He was not a guy she could see herself with long term, nor did she want to deal with being a single mom, or have to deal with telling her parents, so off to the clinic she went.

The clinic she went to was different than what I had experienced, and it was to cause of her crossing paths with Kara again. After my procedure I was released to go home with little regard to how I was doing, Liz was put in a room with other women who also just had the procedure, to recover. There was a row of beds along the wall where there were left to get their strength back before leaving the clinic. It was there in that recovery room that she saw Kara.  She was still beautiful, but she had grown hard, her sweetness had been taken away from her. The two old classmates had a chance to chat a little as they rested, a bit of catching up on where their lives had taken them, but nothing to serious, they both knew why they were there at that clinic which told enough of a story in itself. At one point the doctor came in to the recovery room to talk with Kara (so much for privacy rights back then). The doctor proceeded to tell Kara that because she so many abortions that if she had another, she would never have children. After the doctor left little was said between the two.

It was hard to believe what I was hearing; beautiful, popular Kara was using abortion as a birth control.  That was very sad news. They didn’t exchange info that day, they didn’t stay in contact, and they chose to not remember that day as the day they ran back into each other.

Liz went on to complete her classes at college, marry a great guy and have two wonderful children.  We stayed in contact for many years while our children were growing up, comparing notes and tracking achievements with our kids. But as the years passed each letter and phone call became further and further apart. I ran into her parents in Office Depot a year ago and was able to get a good phone number for her and gave her a call. As crazy as it was to run into her parents that day she was just across town at her husbands soccer game, so I headed for the field and had the chance to spend over an hour with her.  Some things never change; we fell right back into step as if we were 13 years old again talking laughing and crying over where our lives had gone. Her grown children stopped by to see some of the game while we visited and I had the chance to see them and her husband which was nice too. But we have changed, we made plans to get together a few weeks after that which never paned out.  I’ve sent a few emails her way and have gotten a couple text messages from her, but we have moved on with our families and new friends.  Maybe one of these days we’ll find the time to get together and really catch up.

Over all these years we never talked about how our abortions affected us. It became something that was not talked about; there were more important things in life to dwell on over the years. So now I question as I write these words, how is she doing? I think it’s time to find my beloved old friend and check in.

Breaking news

It was during a summer youth camp out; my husband and I were chaperone/cooks for the event held for the youth group of the church we were attending. We were all sitting around the campfire, under the safety of darkness and the evening has taken a serious mood, members of the group were asking questions, sharing stories, questioning life itself. The kids had reached that point were they were willing to ask the questions they couldn’t ask their parents.

There was something about that night; something that seemed to push me to tell these kids about the consequences that come from sex outside of marriage, to confess to them that I had had an abortion and the pain that came with it. I was over taken with emotions of the group, the trust they had, and the willingness to be venerable.

Before I thought it through, the words were coming out of my mouth, not realizing the consequences of me letting out the secret I had been holding on to.  There was several other couple attending the event helping with the chaperoning, as well as around 20 kids including my two sons that were all gathered around that fire that night. As it turned out, it wasn’t any of the adults in the group that I had to worry about, as all of this information poured out of me I didn’t click to me that my boys were in  that group, they had no knowledge of the abortion and that they would have had an older sibling.

It only took seeing the tears streaming down their faces in the dim light of the fire to shock me back to the reality that I had just exposed them to a great deal of pain. Amazingly to me, everyone in the group seemed to come around us, seemed to want to support us. As we sat there, they faced emotions of grief and loss for this sibling they would never know. At that point I couldn't focus on what the others would think of me, but on my sons and the difficult news that they had just heard.

It had never occurred to me that telling my sons would affect them as strongly as it did. I’m very sorry that I never sat down with them privately to tell them, but in some ways I’m thankful we had to strength of the group to affirm that we would be okay and that the child was with God. From that point forward, they thought differently about abortion, they understood what that kind of loss could be like. Everyone in the group left the comfort of that camp fire affected.

Reflection #6

Today feels different for me.  As I've been working on this project, many different levels of emotion has touched me. But today leaves me thinking about my child, not the people around me or the emotions that may be overwhelming me at the moment.

In the heat of the religious out cry a song circulated around and still can be found on the internet by Ray Boltz that for many years would cut me to the core. The song asked the question "What was I supposed to be?" That was a question that I've asked about my child many times, and I ask that question now, knowing that my child would have turned 30 this past year. But now as I look across those words, I only feel a  wave of sadness and disappoinment for not having the chance to know that child, or see the life they would have lived.

What was I suppose to be (Lyrics)

Jesus walked upon the earth,

On the shores of Galilee,

He'd say to His disciples, 

Let the little children come to me, 

I wonder if up in heaven, 

Do you suppose we'll see 

little children asking 

what was I supposed to be. 

What was I supposed to be, 

What were my eyes supposed to see, 

And why did I taste of death 

before I even drew a breath, 

Laid my head at my mother's breast, to sleep. 

Oh Jesus, 

Was I to be a prophet 

used in the ministry, 

A doctor who would find

 a cure for some terrible disease, 

Even if I'd been born imperfect 

why couldn't my parents see, 

That I'd have been made perfect 

when you came back for me. 

Oh Jesus, 

Oh Jesus, what was I supposed to be, 

Oh Jesus, what was I supposed to be.

The attached video is a bit long, but the message of God's love, forgiveness, hope and mercy touched me very deeply. I know that some of what she says is difficult to listen to, but I pray that you might be touched by her words. 

Gianna Jessen from LMF CAM on Vimeo.

Feeling the pressure

When I first meet my husband, Sunday mornings were spent getting his kids up, fed, dressed, and putting them on a retired school bus that belonged to a local church in the community. The church would take this bus full of kids to Sunday school and return them home a couple of hours later, which would mean brief periods of peace and quite for us. On Mothers Day in 1980 I remember the kids getting off that bus and running to me, each with a rose for me. It had been over a year since I had attended church on any regular basis myself. There was something about that moment that touched me, something that reminded me that there was someone outside my circle of friends and family that cared for me that I had turned my back on. I knew that somehow I had to restore my relationship with God.

It wasn’t long after that day that I threw out the idea of us going to church as a family.  My husband had grown up in the church just like I had, so it didn’t take too big of a push to make the decision to start spending Sunday mornings as a family going to church.

We made the choice to go to the church I had been attending previously with my parents and brother (the one that was not willing to marry us a few months earlier), but now as a complete family they welcomed us with open arms. When the delivery of my first son drew close they held a huge shower for me, will piles of things I would need for a baby, including a dozen beautiful homemade blankets. This new church family was very special to us, but they could never know the shame I carried around with me from the abortion. Would they still be so warm and welcoming if they knew?  I asked for God for forgiveness, but I wasn’t prepared to receive that forgiveness back then, and I was far from being at a point that I could be public with it either.

We remained at that little church for over four years until the economy of the time forced a job loss and relocation to Oregon for our little family.

We managed to find new churches when we moved, but once again I could only allow people to get just so close to me.  I would skim over the details of how we meet, and how we got together.  We would joke about the fact that he married the babysitter, but we never told people what really happened back then. I would build friendships with ladies in the church, but none really knew what was hidden on my underbelly.

In the early 80’s we began to hear the cry out from the churches in general against abortion, and the condemnation of those involved in it. It seemed that at every turn the news reported another rally or clinic bombing. On several occasions through the churches we were asked to participate with rallies, including one in downtown Portland, everyone holding hands across the bridges against Abortion. Could I go; could I stand there with our friends against something that I participated in? I could only make my excuses, previous engagements, etc, and avoid the event all together.

These events seem to only seem to further cement me in my guilt, shame and seclusion.  Sometimes it would cripple me to tears on the couch, the fear of them knowing, they would never do what I had done.

Babies and the post abortion experience

After the wedding we had discussed the fact that his older children were 5 & 6 years old already, we didn't want to wait to have kids.  If we were going to have children, we wanted them to be as close in age as possible, so we made no attempts to use birth control after the wedding. 

It was only a few months after the wedding before nature took its course and I was pregnant again, and nine months later at the age of 18 I gave birth to my son. He was a happy healthy little boy that was my total joy. I had gone through a rough 26 hour delivery with him, and we made the decision that enduring that once, was going to be enough. But during that time Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS) was on the rise and in all the news, so we felt out of caution, we would wait until our son was a year old before we finalized our ability to have any more children.

A year had passed, and an appointment was set for my husband to render any additional growth to our family.  Our son had safely grown past the danger period for SIDS, and we were happy with having three children to raise. But to our great surprise before he could get to his appointment, I found out I was pregnant again.

I carried my son very low in my first full term pregnancy, and this second pregnancy was totally different.  I carried the baby high, and my symptoms were very different then my first time around.  I was surrounded by many friends and family that were sure I was going to have a girl this second time around, including a baby shower that was all pink.  At that time, ultra sounds were expensive and were only used if you were having a high risk pregnancy and so you really had no idea as to when the baby was coming, or what sex it would be. But with all the "signs" we  picked out a girls name, packed pink outfits and blankets to bring the baby home in, and we were sure we were going to have this wonderful balanced family, two boys and two girls.

I was 20 years old when went into labor with my second child, still full of hope and expectations as to what is was to be a mother of what now was to be our fourth child. That day I was faced with the realization that rather than the girl that we had been anticipating, we now had another son which came with allot of disappointment. We had to quick pick a name while we were there in the hospital, and send someone home to get something that was not pink for him to come home in (not that he would have known the difference). I knew I loved this child, it just wasn't the same as my first son, or how I loved the old two children, but there was something brewing inside me that didn’t feel the same.

Not long after returning home from the hospital, my husband came home to find me sitting on the couch, holding the new baby, crying and deeply grieving. After some time of me trying to pull myself together, I was able to tell him what I was feeling.

Somewhere in my young head, I felt like I was being punished for ending the life of my first child. That the child I gave back to God was my girl; that I had given up my girl. I struggled for sometime with that idea; that I needed to be punished for what I had done. My husband was the only one who knew what was going on with me; I had to work through these feelings on my own. No one talked to me before the abortion about the fact there would be a chance I would grieve the life of that child or that I would struggle with my roll in that abortion. There were no support groups to turn to; no one to help me through the fact that I would have guilt, shame and remorse for my choice.

As my youngest son grew, my love for him grew; and I realized that instead of being punishment, this child was a gift to me.  He may have been an Oops, guess what we are pregnant again, but he turned out to be part of my gift of grace.

Even though I found my way though this wave of grief, this was not the end of my grieving for my first child.

The wedding

A wedding pulled off in two weeks notice would prove to be challenging enough, but when you are only 17 years old, it comes with an additional collection of complications.  If you are under that age of 18 you are required to have parental consent, and a traditional church wedding was not going to be a slam dunk either.

With the decision to be married, I talked with my mom, and she had to go with us to the county court house and sign the consent forms. In spite of the excitement of the prospects of getting married, it's a weird twist to take your mother with you to the court house to get your marriage license. There was no resistance from my family that I chose to do this; I think they were beyond trying to control me at that point.

With that out of the way the location and pastor were the next to be picked...well that didn't go so well.  I wanted to return to the church I had been attending before everything broke loose, so we paid a visit to the pastor, assuming it was just a matter of making the arrangements. Pastor George was the only one who seemed to notice that I was still a girl looking to marry a 30 year old man. His instructions were for me to move out and wait six months. Well, that was not going to fit into “our” plans, so we headed for the next best thing the local wedding chapel with a justice of the peace.

He had a hand me down vintage 1920's swallow tail tux that required us to pick up a few missing parts at a antique store, and I found a Gunne Sax vintage style dress and hand made my veil, with all the details in place, off to the chapel we went. The chapel was a converted living room in the justice’s home.  We dressed in a spare bedroom, and everyone crammed in.  It was a small civil service, with bouquet in hand my Dad gave me away, family from both sides managed to attend (including my grandmothers), with a small reception back at our apartment, with a home made wedding cake. My maid of honor was a good friend from high school, but she wasn't 18 either, so I had to have my cousin sign the marriage certificate as my witness. It was far from the wedding of my dreams, but thinking about it now, it was a pretty bright spot in those difficult years, and some of those pictures are still worth a good laugh.

So now being married, it somehow made things right again in my world. I'm sure some of you are wondering what happened to that 17 year old girl, married at such a young age, how did the story turn out?  Well strangely enough, by the grace of God, 30 years later we are still married. I'm sure it's to the surprise of that pastor who all those years ago was not willing to marry us, and I'm sure to the surprise of my family at times too.

So regardless of how difficult this road has been for me, he as been beside me all the way, he has kept his promise to make it right. It has been far from easy, with many bumps and hills along the way.  But I feel fortunate to have things where they are now. I know I didn't understand what it meant to love or be loved back then, but I think we have figured that out after all these years. I could say that it would have been great if it could have happened differently, but all these experiences have made me who I am, and has given me the family I dearly love.