Experience, the body's cartographer

I once, ONCE loved a man more than he loved me. I sat, hours at a time, rapt at the music of his voice.

The calluses that develop on a soul, wrought from years of aching for the hand that dangles out of reach, form a foundation. The heart grows firm. The intellect sharp. The body declines as we pass from bloom to bloom, sampling what nectar falls on the lips. But the mind toughens, gathers mass and expands to embrace all experiences. All joy. All sorrow.

As we age, the music that once seized us grows trite. Irrelevant and pedestrian. Poignant and pointless. And yet, the calluses remain. Reminders that once, we were tender and pliable. Waiting to take shape from the ephemeral. Constantly pushing against the world and not realizing until too late that the world pushes back.

Impossible Choices

I was raised by people who believe in the Old Testament God. I recall vivid images of fire and brimstone. I was often frightened when I left church. I didn’t sleep well (still don’t) because I was afraid God would return to earth and I wouldn’t have time to wake up and repent before I got left behind. Kirk Cameron’s movies were scarier to me than your favorite zombie flick. I lived in a world without television but I didn’t need it. I was imaginative enough to envision the apocalypse (or the Rapture) as you like it. Forgiveness was not in my vernacular, only sin and repentance. So, the big sins in my life, the ones that, when you’re older, you look back on and cringe? Those sins I’ve not only repented for, I’ve also atoned. There haven’t been many. I’m not a thief, I don’t worship things, I have always tried honoring the adults in my life, I don’t covet, I don’t lie very often and definitely not about big things, I don’t cheat or invoke God’s name to justify things like war and I’ve never worshipped any God except the one I was taught to worship. And when I’ve slipped, when I’ve done something REALLY wrong, I’ve made my case to God through prayer and tried to find a way to do a penance. Because I believe words are empty without action.

I tell you that to tell you this. I’ve lied to the lot of you, for a good reason, and it’s time to come clean. Before you go on, let me tell you that I know your opinion about me is about to be irrevocably changed. I can’t do anything about that, in fact, it’s part of my penance. I didn’t lie to you because it was fun. I lied because I couldn’t find it in myself to tell you the truth. I was bereft of feeling and strength of character and thought I was without options. I figure a lot of people in this situation feel the same way and so I consider my penance for this sin to be frank discussion and an attempt to guide others through the situation I was in, for the rest of my life. I do not yet feel forgiven. I don’t know if I will ever feel forgiven. I don’t know if God forgives for a thing like this.

I should have a three year old son or daughter. He or she, we’ll say he, because in my mind, he’s always a “He”. He was conceived around January 22nd, 2007 and should have been born on October 15th of that year. We made the decision to have an abortion on a Monday. On February 22nd, a Thursday, I was no longer pregnant. I don’t remember much about the procedure itself, the medication is really good at making a person forget such a thing. My best friend, Rachel, and my husband went with me. (As an aside, this was the day that an unmarked envelope landed on the doorstep of the clinic and the bomb squad had to be called. I have a fuzzy recollection of being interrogated by the police as I was the person who brought the envelope inside). The staff was kind, helpful, impersonal. The doctor was efficient. The clinic was well-appointed and benign. The act itself, the abortion, was 15 minutes of discomfort and now, a lifetime of what-might-have-beens.

We didn’t consider, before, what we would tell the people we had already told we were pregnant…so we just told them that we weren’t pregnant any more. The first one who assumed a miscarriage gave me an idea to side-step this whole nasty discussion, and so I went with it. I’m sorry, I lied, I did. I told everyone we’d lost the baby. In my mind, I had. I’d lost my child. I just didn’t yet know how it would break me.

You see, I made the wrong decision. I know, now, that I DO, in fact, consider a fetus a life. I believe that the soul is imparted at conception. It isn’t a belief rooted in logic. Logic has no bearing in this discussion. The choice is personal, as are the ramifications. And for another woman, perhaps the choice is the right one and no regrets are there. For me, there are regrets. And make NO MISTAKE: I am pro-choice. There ARE situations where, even if the fetus is a life, a desperate and awful choice must be made. Greater good and all that. I refuse to consider taking that choice away from physicians or the women whose bodies are in question. I consider it my duty to help them make more informed choices and to encourage everyone to consider adoption. Just consider it! If you aren’t in the right place to have a child, someone desperately wants it. And it’s surely painful. It’s got to be terrible, knowing there is someone out there with your face who you could have loved. Could have cared for. Could have cuddled and snuggled and tickled. But it’s worse knowing that there’s not.

So, for the last three years, I’ve marked in my mind 2/22 and will again, this year, remember 10/15. Because those dates, those numbers are the only thing I have to snuggle. I look at the gap in the years between my two beautiful children and I wish that I’d been brave enough and tough enough to try and make it a go. But a person will go crazy considering the butterfly effect. I cannot change the past. I am seeking spiritual forgiveness in a very personal way and part of that way is to share my story. To let you know that if you need help with a decision like this, when the clock is ticking…when, in my mind, every minute gets that lump of cells closer to being a baby…you need to know that there is no easy answer. There is pain in the carrying and the birth and the parenting. There is pain if you choose adoption. There is pain if you choose abortion.

There is a hole in me that will never be filled. You need to know that. It isn’t an easy choice. I’m glad it’s a choice you can make. I’m grateful I live in a world where we have choices. I just don’t think abortion is the right one for everyone, or mostly, anyone. It can crush your soul. Rip away any feelings of comfort you ever wanted. Don’t do that to yourself. And if you do, be aware that you might never sleep well again.