The Sixth Street Bridge

The Sixth Street Bridge
At the tender age of 17, I walked across this bridge, alone, into Downtown Pittsburgh, with $300 in my pocket that my mother had given me to get an abortion. I went into the Fulton Building (in the picture) and did what I was told to do. I didn't have a choice - if I did, I wouldn't have chosen abortion.

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

New Logo A Loving Embrace of the Postabortive

Yesterday on my Twitter feed I was happy to see that a new logo for the March for Life was unveiled.  Honestly, I held my breath for just a moment before taking a good look.  I exhaled and smiled at what I saw...

Ta dah!

I was even more happy after reading the symbolism behind the new logo from March for Life President, Jeanann Monahan.  In part...
"You'll notice the new logo encompasses a mother and child. We march for moms and babies. Abortion not only snuffs out a life filled with potential, it harms a mother emotionally, psychologically and physically.  We embrace every woman and child with hope for happier tomorrows."
Back in August of this year, I offered my 2 cents on How to Win the ProLife Fight, wherein I talked about how embracing the millions of women who are postabortive is the key to certain victory. I have my own little collection of horror stories from my limited experience in the ProLife arena, but it's enough to make me hash out seven ways to Sunday plus infinity whether I step out again in defense of life.

About a year and a half into my healing I first went to witness outside an abortion clinic along with the Helpers of God's Precious Infants.  I continue to do this when I'm able to up to this day.  Two years ago I mustered up the courage to attend the March for Life for the first time and it was life changing.  I was there again last year and I plan on being there this year.

The anxiety will continue to ramp up to the 22nd as I try to brace myself against any negativity, temptations to despair, and try to keep from falling head long into the fact that I had an abortion as I take up my spot among the hundreds of thousands of people in D.C. that day.

I will be there, still quite anonymously, without a knowing hand to hold, when the panic creeps up into my throat as I walk that stupid block with all the wretched pictures and abortions on loop.  However, this year, I'm hoping and happy that I'll be able to refocus my gaze on the new March for Life logo depicting mother AND child and feel as though I belong there.  I hope that it continues to make me feel like it did when I first saw it, that I am now represented.  I hope too that all of the people at the March for Life remember the mothers so horrifically hurt by abortion along with the babies lost to abortion  every time they see both beautifully portrayed... together, wrapped in each arms.  To be able to hold our babies in our arms, I would guess, is the thing most postabortive women yearn for in this life, but won't have until the next one.  Until then, we carry our children in our hearts, minds, and souls.

The trending campaign for the March for Life is #WhyWeMarch. Last year the day before the March I wrote,

Tomorrow is the March for Life in Washington, D.C. and I'll be there among the crowds, just one person, one woman.  Even in the thousands and thousands of people, I will feel alone at times, a desperate loneliness.  But then, I remind myself that I'm not alone, that I'm never alone because He is with me and Grace Anne is with me.  She's part of me forever. 

The nerves are increasing because tomorrow is a day when both of my "lives" intersect for a while and I delicately tip toe through despair, joy, hope, sadness, guilt, anger, intense self scrutiny, meek attempts at prayer, and polite conversation.  Come, Holy Spirit, please... and don't ever, ever leave.

So, tomorrow I walk for Grace Anne and for me.  I also walk thanks to my husband because from the moment he came into my life, he changed it forever, for good. I walk for my girls so that they never, ever have to go through what I went through. 

Thank you, Jeanne Monahan, and the March for Life, for reaching out a loving hand to touch the heart of the postabortive, for reaching out a loving hand to me.