Abortion

While recently reading an article on the subject I found on Broadly,  about a woman who had an illegal abortion way back before Roe v. Wade, a faint memory came washing over me.  When I was between the ages of 9-14, I remember a book my grandmother had given me, on pro-life. I couldn’t tell you what the name of it was, but I can tell you, it included many short stories on the damaging affects of abortion; it even included a story from the fetuses point of view, what it was like to die.

This was my first real contact on the subject, because no one really discussed it. It was “taboo”, and it was only mentioned in hush tones, because only dirty and loose girls had them done.  All I was ever told was it was a very bad thing, and no one is supposed to talk about it.

The book was white, with dark letters, maybe blue, maybe black. It had no pictures. There was reference “links” in the back. There was a lot of biblical mentions in it too. (verses, what the church says on the subject matter, etc.).  I’m not really sure why my grandmother gave me this book, maybe it was because it was religious matter (she was a southern baptist, after all). For whatever reason, all I know is that she really wanted me to read it.  Maybe she thought it would do some good later on.

I kept the book hidden for a long time, because I didn’t want my mom to find it. I thought that even having a pro-life book, may have been cause for me to get in trouble.  I remember reading it late at night, when everyone was asleep, reading stories of women who chose not to do it, women who chose to do it. It was like reading something out of a Stephen King novel; a real horror story.

I remember it being worded in such a way that it was almost like the reader was being made to form an opinion of abortion being the worst possible thing you could do, and it would cause you to go to hell if you did it. The story of the fetus’ short life, was also worded in such a way that you were made to feel guilty, and a sense of anxiety and sadness, because there was nothing the reader could do by the end of it. It was probably one of the most memorable stories I’ve ever read. (memorable in that, it invoked such emotion, that I was pretty much scarred for life because of it).

Eventually that book disappeared. To this day, I don’t know if my mother found it and destroyed it.  For all I know it could have just gotten lost, or even just thrown away. I don’t know if I would ever want that book back. It was very graphic, and a very traumatic read.

My second encounter on the subject of abortion, happened when I became pregnant at 16. Many people wanted to tell me what to do with the life growing inside me. I was going to hell if I aborted it, but I was ruining my life if I didn’t. I would be labeled a “whore”, once people found out I was carrying. If I didn’t want to do the “right” thing and have an abortion, I should give “it” (not the baby, but “it”.) up for adoption.  In the end, I made the very best decision for ME and my child: I kept him. I dealt with much ridicule because of my choice, but I would do it all over again, all for that child.

The third time happened a few short years after I had my child. A very dear friend of mine became pregnant. She was very afraid of what her father might’ve said about her pregnancy, so she talked to her mother. Her mother advised her in a way, that possibly keeping this baby could potentially put a rift in the family, ruin her life, and so on. All the typical pressed-upon opinions of how her life would be so much better if she would abort it. In the end, she succumbed to what everyone told her, and ended the pregnancy. She cried for days and days over this, on my shoulder. Eventually, she didn’t talk about it anymore; I wonder if she thinks about it still.

Recently, a friend of one of my children became pregnant. She is 15. This little girl struggled with what the right thing to do would be. She told us that her mother said she didn’t have a choice but to get an abortion, and if she didn’t she would be kicked out. How much truth to this story, we don’t know. Ultimately, the girl chose to have the abortion. The girl showed us the photograph of the ultrasound. I wept deeply over this. I didn’t know that seeing that child in the womb, the last photograph of that baby, would really affect me on so many levels.

Side note – I found it very peculiar that the very next day, the girl went about her business like the baby never existed. She laughed, and smiled, she showed a lot of child-like innocence. It befuddled me, but all I could think is that either she really just wanted to forget it ever happened, or it never hit her, what she had just been thru.

So, am I pro-life, or pro-choice?  That’s a good question.

Over the years,  I’ve witness some of my friends go thru the process of abortion, and while I don’t understand why someone would want to put themselves thru (what I can only perceive to be), that type of pain and loss, I believe the choice they make is a personal one; one that I will never truly understand. The choice they make is one that they will have to own, for the rest of their life.

I can honestly say that, after much reflection, I believe I am neither PL or PC. I am pro-whatever is right for MY body. I do not have an opinion on what others do to their own bodies.  (of course, I would really just want to keep all the unwanted babies for myself and raise them up, but that’s another story for another day).

I don’t think it is right, nor wrong. I DO feel the choice to abort is something no one should condone another person for. In the end, they will know if what they did was the very best choice for them.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

The front of the church.

When I was younger, I attended two very different churches.  In the winters, it was in PA, and I attended an episcopal church.  In the summers, it was in VA, and it was a baptist church.

The episcopal church is where I spent the most time; I was very active here.  From youth group, sunday school, acolyte, torch and cross bearer, choir, (youth, adult and handbell), assisting with sunday school, VBS, nursery, was a greeter, and even assisted with communion (chalice bearing).  I had my first communion, was confirmed, attended various weekend youth retreats like Christophany, (where I met my first (now ex) husband), and trips to the Jersey Shore. I wed said first ex husband there, and even had my first two children baptized there.  Like I said, active. 

The baptist church was my home away from home church and had a very different feel to it.  It was rigid (altho’ this may have just been my grandmother’s influence), I always dressed up (come to think of it, i always dressed up at the episcopal church, when I was younger anyway), I always had to sit still in the pews, be polite and shake hands with people, smile, use manners. (again, not that I didn’t have to do this at the episcopal church, but this was more like putting on airs, if you will).  I did not attend bible study or youth group (with the exception of two summers), I did not attend sunday school either, except when I was really young (probably because grandmother could not keep me contained without whoopin my ass right there in front of everyone).  

I did really enjoy both churches equally, but there was one thing I absolutely adored in the southern church; the childrens sermon right in the middle of church.  For those of you who don’t know, it consists of the pastor calling the children to the front of the church, we sat on the little step, he told us a story, and got right down on our level.  It was the best 15 minutes at church for me. I really felt like the pastor was talking to us, not at us. (Plus, I got to show off how pretty I looked in my Jessica McClintock dress that “mama” bought at the now defunct Thalhimer’s department store).  After our special sermon, he sent us back to our pews or to sunday school, but I always had to sit back down with “mama”.  But at that point, I didn’t mind.  Someone showed he cared enough to take time out of the worship and praise-packed service, that was geared more towards adults, to show that us youngsters mattered too. He was a very soft-spoken pastor, very kind.  I liked him a lot. 

Even tho’ my episcopal church did not do this activity, we did have children’s church, usually in the chapel.  It started at the same time as “big church”, so there was no interruption of it and the kids could just go kids church and the parents could go to theirs. Since there were a ton of kids, it was always great fun, and a little ruckus-y. I really did learn a lot, made friends, and always left feeling good.  

They were two completely different forms of worship for children, but they were both equally awesome. A little part of me always wished for something just a little similar to the baptist church, but what we had was just fine anyway.  The church we currently attend does the sunday children sermon, just as my beloved baptist church did.  But since my children are older now, they won’t go to the front of the church.  They don’t have a problem sitting with me or going to sunday school tho’, I let them choose.  I greatly enjoy watching the childrens sermon, seeing the innocence on their cherub-like faces, getting excited to answer questions and so on.  Brings back all those fond memories again.

Hopefully one day, my own grandchildren will be able to attend church with me and they will want to go to the front of the church.