Postabortion journey, walk with me...

Given for the World...

2012-03-02T11:08:00.000-05:00

Just felt inspired today and wanted to express it somehow. It's easy to become discouraged and start to lose hope with all that is going on in the world today. It's hard to keep fighting the good fight when it seems everyone is against you. It takes courage to express what you believe, especially if you are Catholic in today's world. It's hard to not feel hypocritical in some way when trying to defend the Church you love, especially when you feel unworthy of Her most of the time.

But, the good news is, we are all unworthy - but isn't it just truly awesome that despite all of our unworthiness - He redeems us anyway? I tried to come up with some reasons and ideas to defend myself and the Church that I've loved my whole life and in that deep soul searching, I felt the need to express my love of Her and Him in some way. Even though I may have walked away from Him for a while, even though I may have turned my back and refused to listen, He remained there and waited for me to turn back around and I found everything I loved from childhood was there waiting for me too.

So, when I start to lose hope about the fate of our beloved Church, His Church - I try to think about how long we've been here and how many trials and tribulations we've withstood. I think about all of our good and holy priests and it amazes me that anyone would want to even become a priest in this day and age, but they do, and they do it well. In all of the craziness, knowing that generally, I can find a Catholic Church near to me, anywhere, and even if I have to knock on the door because it's locked, someone will let me in because I belong there.

So, a little love letter...

Lenten Reflections and Meditations for the Postabortive

2012-02-29T21:08:00.000-05:00

As one of my Lenten projects this year, I'm trying to only use the Internet for good instead of evil, and by that I don't mean I'll cease from ranting on editorial pages of left-leaning "newspapers" because some people are just too stupid for me not to say something! I am trying to avoid comboxes and forums as much as possible - talk about a rabbit hole. I can't say that I'll cease from posting picture after picture of my ridiculously adorable and gifted children, but I am making a concerted effort to not go to the dark corners of the Internet that feed my stupid and narcissistic need for self punishment in those moments when I'm seeking condemnation from somewhere because I'll never find it where I should be looking.

Anyhoo, the blog over at Lumina - a ray of light in abortion's darkness has a great series of Lenten meditations and/or reflections for this Lenten season and I'm trying to make time for each one as there is much wisdom and tender words of encouragement and clarity to be had. From today's installment, Instant Gratification comes this,

"We have somehow lost the concept of patient waiting, instead looking to our “feelings” to gage reality, when in fact our feelings are often very far from what is truth."

Please do visit if you are postabortive and take advantage of this series.

I like the Lumina site and it's mission because it speaks to that part of me that doesn't want to put this all back in a tidy box back on the shelf somewhere. I know some women are able to go on a Rachel's Vineyard retreat and are healed and happy and move on, yet I know others, myself included, who need a bit more, who want a bit more, who are somehow pushed or urged to do something else now that they are healing.

Another great piece on the Lumina site I found today is from a gentleman whose wife is postabortive, but he didn't find out about it until after they were married, but as a true testament to what marriage is and should be, her postabortion journey and healing has become their healing journey as a married couple. I told my husband about my abortion within a few weeks of dating. I never had told anyone else I dated, but he was different. When I met him, something in me changed and I knew I was going to marry him, but I knew too that I had to reveal this part of my past to him. He never judged me or condemned me, never said an unkind word to me about it. And when it all began destroying me from the inside and could no longer be contained, he was right there with me and remains there today through it all.

Anyway, a good read for any husbands of postabortive women with some sound advice. Check the piece out here: For Better or Worse – Marrying Someone Who is Post-Abortive

He said to them, "Do you still not understand?"

2012-02-14T21:53:00.080-05:00

So here’s how the last few days have gone…which serve as a background for all that has happened in mind my mind and heart as of late.

Thursday of last week, I really was really tumbling off the lighted path. I had spent the better part of the week upset and spiraling downward for various reasons – some everyday stresses, misbehaving children, financial worries, frustrations with my mom, all of the latest news about the HHS mandate and all of the commentary. But, I’ve been on this road before so I know what it feels like when I mis-step – or when I purposely go out of my way to take the long way around sometimes to nowhere. I’m finding that when my mind is getting filled up with despair inducing drama and something happens external from me but still affects me in some way, i.e., the current defense of the Church, all sorts of stuff happens emotionally with me and pretty soon I’m looking for something, anything, to grab onto as truth. The proof I seek sometimes lead to profitable knowledge. Other times, not so much. Other times, it leads me down a path to places I need not ever go, but do. This time things got a bit more scary because the negative thoughts were winning the war in my mind, the thoughts that convince me that my family is better off without me, I’m not worthy of this life, I deserve damnation, and oh won’t I have a grand funeral Mass, and oh everyone will be so sad but they will totally “get me” now.

"They published your diary. And that's how I got to know you. The key to the room of your own and a mind without end."

By Friday morning, I was still in the throes of it and after a few tearful phone conversations with Hubby and encouraging words from my dear Priest, I had to get out of the empty house so I went to Mass (more on that later) and then some errands, picked up my girls and kept busy until hubby returned home and I felt safe again. Even with Mass that day, by Friday night and early Saturday morning, it was getting dark again. I continued on my search for answers and some sign that I was winning this fight, but alas, I wasn’t finding any. I was trapped, or at least I felt trapped.
A few events over Sunday and Monday would start to turn things around, thank God...literally.

The people that love me and know me best were providing much needed tender loving care and ever gentle direction. Sometimes being stuck is worse than even moving backwards. After the March for Life I was on such a high – I felt like I could do anything – but the feeling faded. I was getting to the realization that I didn’t believe this journey would ever end – but I was missing the fact that it doesn’t have to end, it might just have to change course. I didn’t know how to declare victory over all of “this.” For 20+ years I lived with this deep, dark, torturous secret and now for the past 2 or so, it’s come to a bit of light, but I don’t know what to do now.

I know how to be postabortive and depressed. I don’t know how to be postabortive and happy. But postabortive and happy, joyful even, was what I was that day in Washington, D.C. But, it didn’t last because I didn’t know how to maintain it. Who am I to preach about being postabortive – all with a smile on my face and joy in my heart? That just didn’t add up for me.

Fine, I’m forgiven. Fine, I’m not eternally damned, but I’m not going to be happy about it – or am I? What could possibly make me happy for the long haul and fill my heart with the joy I felt after my Rachel’s Vineyard retreat, the joy I felt at the March for Life, the ridiculous joy and all encompassing love I felt that night in adoration when I heard His voice.

I started to reflect on some of the things my dear "advisers" were pointing out to me. I started to think about how far I’d come in the last couple of years. I started saying “stop” to the negative thoughts for a few moments and things began to get a bit clearer.

I was given a copy of an article by Father Dwight Longenecker, Finding Forgiveness, wherein the Good Father provides some specific, practical direction for participating in the Mass with all of one’s burdens and sorrows, angers, doubts and fears. Reflecting on the Mass I had just attended on Friday - since it was in the chapel – it was an intimate experience, one that could really lend itself to just the kind of action Fr. Longenecker describes. Which led me to some more realizations…I had so enjoyed that daily Mass. I'm not even sure if I have ever attended a daily Mass before in my lifetime. It was so beautifully simple. I love my big, Gothic churches, the more incense the better, the more music, the more song, the more whatever, but that day, I realized that yes, all that is good, but this simple, uncluttered, Mass was just what I needed to feel close to Him. I read and re-read Fr. Longnecker's directions on “liturgical therapy” and began to think about how I could start to use them somehow and maybe, just maybe, it would help.

Later that day, my own dear Priest posted a piece on his blog that was just as illuminating for me. In his discussion of the Sacraments of Rconcillation and Eucharist, the Good Reverend Father talked about how they are tangible manifestations of God's presence for his children and how these manifestations become material signs for all of the senses. I was aware of this before, but I don't think it really ever sunk in. Or maybe I thought they were tangible manifestations, but not for me. He continued on as to how our faithful participation in the Eucharistic sacrifice brings us to God in that place in particular, but also allows for the finding of God in every place, everywhere.

As I sat and read through my journals and other writings, some from years ago, I realized that over the last couple of years of my journey, I have spent more time in Church, at Mass, in Adoration, in confession, in contemplation, on retreat, in prayer, in witness outside of abortion clinics – than ever in my entire lifetime. I have always longed for a better prayer life, more involvement in the Church, more understanding, to be more than a lapsed Catholic but, I didn’t know how to get there. There are many journal entries and writings that express my frustration over not achieving any of it of never taking a step towards what I really wanted, what I really needed, and what was available to me at the very moment I chose to move forward. There were times expressed when I thought maybe the Church is not where I need to be - maybe I need to be something else.

This is the gift that Grace has given to me. She has been showing me how and so has He, but they were waiting until I was ready. While acknowledging and mourning Grace, I have been growing in faith and strength all the while because of all of the things I've done and places I've been because of this journey. I have been searching for tangible proof, some “sign” that it’s over, some spoil to show for my victory when spoils abound and amass by the day. I’ve ached for just something to touch, to see, to hear, anything to help my unbelief. The proof has been all around me and right under my nose.

When I prepare for confession, a recurring theme is not loving God with my whole heart. I’ve been under the impression that I haven’t been doing that – when now I think that maybe I have been, at least since this journey of mine began. I’ve loved Him through loving my Church that I’ve come to know more intimately than ever before. The Church is Him. And my love for His Church doesn’t have to fit one description for me because now I’ve come to find out that I love my traditional Mass, but I love a youth Mass, and I love a daily Mass. I love it in the singing and the silence. I love it quiet and contemplative and I love it with children who tap my arm incessantly throughout and more so during the consecration than any other time.

Any why do I love this Church of mine so? Because it, and therefore, He, loves me back. From the goose bumps I get from the music, to the tingle in my spine at the sound of the bells, to seeing His face in the faces of the good and holy priests I’ve come to know and love on this journey. And the best part – the Church is everywhere, and therefore, He is everywhere. Yes, I keep Him within my heart always, but that tangible presence I crave so much and need, at times, even desperately, is available everywhere, in every Church, with every Sacrament.

I was then reminded to recall the rest of the passage … You shall love the Lord your God with your whole heart, with your whole soul, and with all your mind…You shall love your neighbor as yourself. Who’s my neighbor? My husband, I’m reminded, is my neighbor and if loving my husband means that I’m loving God simultaneously – then I’m so in.

And in all of this love that I find so much happiness in – even though clouded at times by my struggle – a God that loves me like that has to have forgiven me. So, where now can I look for proof of that forgiveness when I'm in need of it? In all of the same places that I’ve mentioned, in my Church, in every sacrament, in every confession, in every adoration, in every priest and sister. All of which provide me with proof that I can see, touch, hear, smell, taste – whenever I need it.

And I can find it in the love of my husband. His love is in His love. It's in his embrace. I can feel it in the nape of his neck when I cling to him for my very life. It's in the strength of his arms as he holds me up. The proof of His love for me is ever tangible in this man he sent to me and who saves my life every day.

And in His ever merciful providence, He has sent me tangible proof of Grace, whom I can’t touch, or see, or hear. That proof lies in those little hands that tap me incessantly at Mass, in those big blue eyes that see right through to my soul, in the long, blond hair that smells so delicious. Grace is a part of me and a part of them and with them and through them, she loves me.

I think I'm beginning to understand.

I need a thicker skin...

2012-02-09T07:55:00.000-05:00

I've been riding a kind of high since the March for Life a few weeks ago. I've received a lot of support and awesome, inspiring emails. I've seen my story at work in others and it humbles me and spurns me on. However, as I've said many times before on my blog, I'm a work in progress. And this week, well the past few days, the dark side is winning. Most likely due to all of the recent news coverage on the HHS mandate, my obsession with 24/7 news coverage, smaller every day frustrations piling up, etc. When I begin to feel weak is when things get kind of scary and I come across things like the following article. If I'm going to stay in this prolife fight which is where I think I am meant to be - though I'm not sure how just yet - I'm shaken to the core and want to retreat into the darkness. Some days I can just move on through it and others, I'm completely stuck and not sure what it will take for me to climb out of the despair, remembering all the facts of my story for what it is to convince myself once again that I'm okay.

So how can you allow me to be tortured? Shouldn’t you be working to protect me from suffering? Why allow me to be torn limb from limb? Letter from a 12 week old unborn baby

Roe v. Wade = Joy v. Sorrow

2012-01-29T21:45:00.019-05:00

This past Monday marked my first experience with the March for Life. The one thing I know for sure at this moment is that it most certainly will not be my last experience. Which, I have to admit, was one of my biggest fears going in, that I would be so completely traumatized by the event that I would never return, that people would somehow sense my "postabortiveness" and ridicule me, chastise me, damn me to hell. I'm happy - no actually relieved and completely ecstatic - to report that I remain intact and unscathed for the most part.

Now, granted, there were a few moments where I thought, okay, this is it, the proverbial other shoe is about to drop - but those moments remained moments and I marched on.

The night before was filled with anxiety and nightmares and much tossing and turning, but I jumped out of bed at 4:45 AM and got some coffee. I had packed my bag the night before and felt armed with the essentials, iPhone, candy, journal, notes, rosary and few other little treasures that I wanted to take along. I also had the cards that I had made for the event. I wasn't fully convinced that I was going to hand them to anyone, but I had them anyway.

When I got in my car to head out into the dark and rainy morning, there was a note from my dear hubby taped to the steering wheel. It was a reminder from him of how far I've come and also a pep talk to remember all of my accomplishments when faced with any ugliness during the day. He was quite concerned about my going to the March from the beginning and I love him for it. Even though I fancy myself a pretty tough cookie who can take care of myself - I have my weaknesses and they were all going to be vulnerable on this day.

I arrived at my parish for the bus pick up time. I was going with a bunch of people that I know, but like I said before, none of them knew my real motivation for going on the trip. What I found out throughout the day was that I had chosen my transportation to the March well. Traveling to the March with a heavy heart and cluttered mind is quickly swept away but a rowdy bunch of youth from our parish school. Not rowdy in a bad way - just so full of life and happiness and seemingly untouched by the hurts of this world thus far. It is truly contagious. As I sat on the bus for the trip, my thoughts often wondered to what I was like at that age and the things I had already waded into and I said a few prayers for those kids around me and hoped that none of them would have to go through what I've gone through.

Next stop was a Pro Life Youth Mass just outside of D.C. where our own Bishop would be present. We all unloaded and entered the Church. The first thing that hit me was the music, beautiful music from live musicians! Don't get me wrong, I'm in love with my traditional Mass and "folk masses" usually aren't my thing, but there is something to be said for a Youth Mass with live music at the right time and place - and this was that time and place for me. I was immediately swept up in mere seconds. I felt something stir within me that I hadn't felt in a very long time. I would argue that I hadn't quite felt it since I drove away from my Rachel's Vineyard retreat weekend two years ago - it was joy, pure joy coming from deep within me somewhere where it remains buried for long stretches of time only bubbling to the surface, unwilling to be contained, at far and in between moments in my life. At that moment, I felt immediately buoyed and lifted up.

I was happy to see a few familiar faces among the clergy that were scurrying to get ready for the Mass and I spotted one who I knew of but hadn't met personally yet. Once my group was settled in their seats, I excused myself and ventured back out to the vestibule where they were waiting for another bus to arrive. I have no idea where my courage came from but there was no stopping me now. I introduced myself to the Priest who I had previously sent my blog link to. I told him my name as he took my hand. I quickly and quietly told him who I was and I saw the look of recognition on his face and in his kind eyes. I'm so thankful that there seem to be at least more than a couple good and holy Priests among us and I keep finding more and more on my journey! Since I'm basically still "silent" on my whole story in my "real" life, Priests are one of the few who I generally feel safe telling my story to and if they can use my story or my blog to help another woman - mission accomplished!

I turned to go back into the church and there was our Bishop, just standing there alone and waiting without anyone clamoring for his attention. The Holy Spirit was on my tail this day and I felt a distinct shove in his direction. I fumbled with the cards in my pocket and went up and tapped him on the back. He turned around and again I was greeted with His face in the face of this holy Priest, now Bishop. I introduced myself and he asked what Parish I was from. I told him and then I quickly and quietly told him the real reason I was there. As he bent down to listen to me, he took both of my hands in his sacred ones and expressed sorrow for my pain and all that I had been through without even knowing the details! I don't know why I felt the need to tell him - but I did and I'm glad I did. I handed him a few of my "calling cards" and told him about my blog allowing me to be "silent no more." I thanked him as another bus had arrived and went back inside for Mass.

I couldn't believe what I had just done and I couldn't wait to text my husband and let him know that I did it! The Mass was wonderful. The Priest who I had introduced myself to gave the homily and it was a good one. Looking out over that sea of young people, I just felt warm and fuzzy and I haven't done warm and fuzzy for a long time. It was standing room only and during the consecration I looked around just to see if they were still standing, but nope, about 95% of the young kids were kneeling right on the floor. I have hope yet that this generation may be the one that turns things around.

The next few hours were kind of blur and I'm still letting a lot of it settle into my soul. There were several times when the anxiety was welling up and I had to talk myself down. Our group said a rosary when we were right outside of our drop off point. As I stepped off the bus, I braced myself for whatever was coming next. We had to walk for a bit until we found our spot on the lawn in front of the stage where all kinds of congressman and officials were giving short speeches. It was really raining at this point but the energy of the crowd was tangible. With each speaker the intensity grew, but something else was growing with it - more joy.

And as I took a deep breath at the start of each speech waiting to hear about the selfish women who chose abortion, the ones who murdered their children, the ones who deserve no pity...my anxiety was for naught. There was no mention of those women, but plenty of words about the postabortive woman searching for redemption, the one sold a bill of lies about what abortion would really do to her. That, my friends, is what's going to enlarge the prolife movement beyond anyone's expectations, if the postabortive women out there, millions of them, feel safe and at home in a crowd of prolifers, they will come.

The actual March then began and it was bit dicey for a while keeping all of our charges in line and for me, an extra challenge as I'm only so tall and can't see in a crowd to begin with so I picked the tallest gentlemen with us and decided to follow him all day. I didn't have my hubby who normally leads me through crowds and I don't even have to think about it. But once the walk smoothed out a bit and got moving, it was just a giant swell of people and there it was again... joy.

I had thought the March would be somber and gloomy with everyone reflecting on all the babies lost to abortion and horrible mothers who aborted them, but nope. These people, these young and old, large groups and small, from all over the country were filled with joy, pure, unadulterated, singing, chanting, laughing, joy.

Then came a slight bump in the road, a few ugly, ugly signs, a few prochoicers... but then a big bump in the road and our trip "captain" warned us before that it was coming. There in the middle of the March is this giant set up with a giant LED screen of horrible, gut wrenching and graphic pictures streaming on it. We tried our best to tell our kids not to look at them. But it was like a train wreck and they couldn't help it. I couldn't help it. Then I got angry - why were they allowed to be there? Aren't they kind of preaching to the choir? I don't think the Marchers needed to see that.

If I do anything with my story, I hope one day to convince someone that those kind of pictures aren't necessary - maybe they serve some purpose in convincing somebody what abortion really is - but not in that time or that place were they in any way necessary. That display was followed up by another huge display running almost a full block - same thing - graphic, ugly, pictures. I don't need the reminder of what happened to my baby. Just when I thought I was about to lose it and possibly be physically sick... I felt a little tug at my heart saying, "It's okay, it's not about all that."

And you know what, it isn't about all that. I started thinking about my journey as I marched in that sea of people. That maybe my journey doesn't need to be about death any more, at least not in that kind of ugly, gruesome, graphic way. I'm guilty of looking stuff up online just to torture myself. I read the radical message forums with wing nut bible thumpers that condemn me to hell despite anything I've done in redemption for my sin. It's as if I'm tempting myself and my faith just to see how strong I really am.

These huge displays on the March were one blip of negative in an ocean of positivity of love and joy and laughter and singing and music. I was surrounded by more Priests than I've ever seen in my life. I saw many Sisters as well and not just the retired-teacher variety - these sisters were young with glowing faces even in the dark and deary rain. And all the young people singing and chanting. There was a group from a boys academy singing beautifully in four part harmony. There were bagpipes and chanting and prayers being offered. There was one bunch of seminarians - at least 50 of them - and I said a quick prayer that they all make it to become Priests.

Marching up the hill, you can turn around and get a glimpse of just how many people are really there. When we got up to the Supreme Court, I then began to see the group I most wanted to see. All of the women from the Silent No More Awareness movement - and there they were, first one or two, then three, then a whole line of them up to the Supreme Court, boldly holding their "I regret my abortion!" signs. I walked past them and felt bad that I wasn't strong yet enough to do that but I tried not to dwell on it too much. They were woman of all ages and races and they had all been through what I had been through and this was but a small sample of the millions of us out there.

Our group stopped at the top of the hill to get a picture in front and as we stood still and smiled, the next Silent No More Woman began to speak and her testimony started with, "I had an abortion at the age of 17..."

Okay Lord, I heard you.

We started our walk back down the hill and now we were right behind the line of post abortive witnesses. I wanted so badly just to reach out to each one and pat them on the back but I couldn't because I was afraid the group I was with would find me out! I didn't have too much time to feel like a coward as we were in a hurry with our next stop being Union Station for a small break. Inside there were many more Priests and Sisters. I gave out my card to some when no one could see me and there were more singing and joyful youth.

We made our way back to our bus when it was all over and I had so many mixed emotions and feelings and didn't think I'd ever get them all sorted out. I was so busy this week that I haven't had a lot of time to really let it all soak in. When I got on the bus and got settled in to drive to our next location - dinner - I pulled out my journal and began to jot a few things down. One thing kept coming to mind - joy. Time to put the death away. Time to put the hurt away. If it comes back up again - just treat it like those ugly displays on the March - temper myself, say a prayer and march on. Sure there will be times when I feel shame and sorrow and hurt and pain, but they are only temporary because my God is an awesome God and he has forgiven me.

There were a few more busloads at our dinner location and since I ate by myself and then walked around a bit, I handed out a few more cards. One Priest who I gave it to with a quick explanation, simply looked at me and said, "this is beautiful." Yes, it kind of is actually.

By the time we boarded the bus for the hours ride home, I quickly emailed/texted three people, my hubby to let him know I survived and was okay, my dear Priest who has been there since my first steps of this journey, and a dear Sister who has been there for over half of it. Then my phone's battery died. I hear you Lord, I said to myself, the next few hours were not going to be for music in my ears, or texting, or Words with Friends, all I could do was sit back, exhale, and smile.

I spent the ride talking to Jesus, and Mary, and Grace and I wondered where my journey would take me next but I did know for sure that there would be more joy than sorrow from now on.

Infinite Grace Inspiration...

2012-01-20T12:41:00.001-05:00

This song has inspired me for a long while. It was given to me by a kind and holy Sister to whom I am forever grateful for her compassion and loving help on my journey. I've created a little video for the song with pictures that kind of tell the story of my journey, with the people whose direction, lives, writings and prayers have inspired me and of course Him, without who, none of this would even be possible.

Infinite Grace...

Thank you for His Grace and for Grace Anne

2012-01-20T10:29:00.000-05:00

The Catechism of the Catholic Church 1996 says: Our justification comes from the Grace of God. Grace is favor, the free and undeserved help that God gives us to respond to his call to become children of God, adoptive sons, partakers of the divine nature and of eternal life.

Well, sign me up!

I've always loved the name Grace and it was always in the top 3 on the baby name list with each child that we've had. But, for some reason (which I now know) it always got bumped. For a while it was to be the middle name of our youngest, but then it got replaced (for the same reason). When I started my Project Rachel counseling, my counselor asked me to think about a name for my lost daughter if I didn't have one already. But, I did have one already...Grace Anne. I have always known from the very moment that I lost her that she was a "she." But, her name was revealed to me later in life and I carried it around deep in my heart for a long time before I uttered it aloud. Oh and what a name - with so much meaning.

Angel of Grace

Along my journey, I've learned so much and a lot of it has been about "grace" itself and "Grace" herself. I've learned that there is actual grace, sanctifying grace, habitual grace...I'm sure there are many more examples. But the ones that stick with me are actual grace (movement by God on us) and habitual (the indwelling of God's own Holiness and Divine Nature in our souls). I've also learned that in order to be with God, we need both kinds of Grace - we need His grace to move us or cause us to act and we need Him to dwell within us at the same time. I like to think that I need a 3rd kind of Grace, my Grace who dwells within me as well both physically and spiritually and who causes me to act also - perhaps nudging me a bit more when I'm not paying close enough attention.

I beat myself up sometimes when I think I haven't paid enough attention to her or prayed about her enough or thought about her, but she's there and because of where she is - she doesn't hold any of my human weaknesses against me. I think she just has unabashed, all consuming love for me and for my family here on earth. I think she watches over all of us and has a special place in her heart for my Mom - who may need her more than I do.

With the March for Life on Monday, Grace Anne and His Grace are at the forefront of my mind. I feel her calming me down and bolstering me at the same time. I feel His Spirit upon me throughout the day and I'm getting better at calling upon them both in those times when I start to feel the waters of doubt and despair sloshing around my ankles.

So for today, and for Monday in case I forget, I want to thank Him for pouring down his sanctifying grace on my unworthy soul with every absolution I've received and every time I've received Him in the Eucharist. Thank you to all of the people who have held my hand, held me up, and my touched my heart along the way - you know who you are.

Thank you to my Grace Anne for being with me, when I acknowledge you and when I forget, for every tear I've shed, every rosary I've prayed and for every reparative and redemptive step I've taken up to this point and for all the steps I'll take on Monday with you.

I remain eternally and completely grateful for my rise from the very pit of despair where thoughts of suicide were commonplace to where I am today, still wounded, but healing and aware of His all-encompassing and unabashed love for me and for being reminded of my strength and courage. I am grateful for the Infinite Grace that has touched my life and guided me on this journey helping me to find where each piece fits in the Child of God I am today and for who I will be on Monday as a silent, prayerful, redemptive witness to what abortion really does to a woman who has one.

Just "Stop It!"

2012-01-17T15:03:00.000-05:00

My hubby is constantly telling me (well not so much as telling me because I don't respond to directions all that well), let's say he nudges me and reminds me to look for the positive, stay out of the dark, find the good, the silver lining. Sometimes it's truly nauseating, really. There are times when I just want to be left alone in my sulking! I'm getting better though. I don't sulk nearly as much as I used to in large part because I've figured out what sends me down that path to begin with and I've found some ways to turn myself around. I'm not 100% successful, but I'm much improved. As much as I hate to admit it, his words get through to me sometimes, though I will never admit it aloud to him (and the fact that I'm blogging about it doesn't necessarily mean admission either!)

A lot of times what he says resonates with me because I'm open to hearing it, other times it resonates because he pisses me off so badly and in my silent treatment of him afterward, I begin to see what he was talking about. Along my journey I've collected a handful of "advisers" to help me along the way, each one playing a necessary and perfect part in my healing. I know who I can turn to to ask for what I need, I have people who know what I need before I ask, and I have people who know that what I'm asking for isn't what I need at all and they offer something else or at least point me in a different direction.
I've been all churned up with the March for Life coming which I still can't really believe I'm going to - even though I'm all signed up. No one that I'm going with will know why I'm really there. No one will know the journey that has brought me to that point. I've questioned why I'm going at all, what's the point, etc., which I'm sure will continue until I'm halfway to D.C. I'm sure my emotions will be tenuous and I'm coming up with some ideas to deal with them if I need to. Sometimes, it's music, or prayer, my journal of course, a Priest nearby so I can feel closer to Him - which I've been told there will be no shortage of at the March. How many times can I ask for a blessing in one day I wonder?

I've decided to wear a bracelet that my Mom gave me for Christmas as my way of taking her along with me. It's jingles and every time I hear it it, I think of her. I worry over the state of her soul and if she's confessed to her part in my abortion, but I'm not able to address my concerns so I have to just pray that she has. But, she'll be with me on my trip as will Grace, hopefully joining me from above and encouraging me and interceding for me throughout the day.
I've come up with some little cards with my blog name on it and my email that I hope to pass out to people I meet if I want. I figure I can stay mostly anonymous and still get my point across. I'm looking forward to seeing all of the women from the Silent No More campaign. Their courage astounds me and I'm in awe of their public witness.

But with all that's on my mind and trying to keep it under control, I've read quite a few things that have helped and it always seems I find inspiring words when I need them most. I've wondered what's the point of my going on Monday. It's difficult for me to tell other people what to believe or hope in. Who the hell do I think I am? And now, having had an abortion, I'm going to go to the March for Life as a witness? Sometimes it sounds just plain nuts. But I've discovered that I do have a voice, though anonymously and online for the most part, but I have a purpose in all of this, a positive purpose that has sprung from the very depths of despair.

I've heard more than once from a good and holy Priest that right action leads to right thinking or right thinking leads to right action. I'll have to check... but I'm pretty sure it's action first b/c for me thinking, or over thinking, tends to hold me back. Sometimes I need to just do it. There is a video from MadTV that is one of my husbands' favorites...it contains much, simple truth that I need to hear sometimes and don't think that he doesn't remind me when necessary. I'll keep these words in my head on Monday when I feel the fear welling up, the despair at my heels, the doubts creeping and the shadows lurking...

Here's to me getting on the bus Monday morning.

Not only postabortive, but...

2012-01-08T10:24:00.004-05:00

Recently on a forum that I visit there was a thread from a gentleman who had married a woman with a "past" and he was asking for advice on how to deal with his wife's "past" which he admitted he knew about before he married her, married her, and now seems not able to deal with it. I didn't respond to the thread because I probably would have been less than kind and not everyone can be as saintly as my dear hubby.

Over the holidays I had come down with a horrible cold during which time said hubby sent me to bed and took over the household. Right before the holidays, I had a few anxiety ridden events and hubby was right there to support me, motivate me and kick me in the $#% when necessary. Over the last week or so I've heard more than a few stories of women completely unhappy in their marriages, one or two to the point of filing the papers. The point is, my husband gives me daily reminders (usually) of how extremely blessed I am to have him in my life. No, he's not perfect and also has the ability to drive me completely crazy leading me to threaten physical violence. (I'm kidding - well sort of, I wouldn't really be able to inflict any real pain).

One would think after so many years of marriage with a saintly hubby and the blessings he brings that I would be grateful to the point of doing anything and everything for him - and I am and I do, save one thing. Sex. That's not to say we don't have it or our marital relations are suffering in any great way, but there are stretches of time where I attempt to completely avoid it all together. Over the span of this healing journey of mine I've come to realize exactly why I do that - it's not sex with my husband that I'm avoiding - it's the anxiety before, it's the mental gymnastics leading up to it, it's the fall out afterwards. A happy marriage should naturally lead to a happy and satisfying marital sex life. It's the one thing that husband and wife hold as their own, through all of the every day chaos, the one thing that is theirs to cherish together. The one space in time where their only purpose it to love and be loved.

For us, it is as I describe, but for me it only remains so for a precious bit in time. Our marital relationship does make me happy and loved and truly blessed ... and then the darkness surrounds me, but not entirely, more like a cruel, thick fog that allows me to see just enough to torture myself with - see this is what you can have - but you can't because you are evil and you don't deserve it! The marital act is haunted by my past and not because my hubby can't deal with it, but because I can't deal with it at least not without it being exhausting and downright painful. It becomes a fierce battle while I try to tramp down thoughts of my past, images that cloud my mind, memories that float in that I try to push aside.

All of this is not just because I'm postabortive, it's also because I'm postabortive with a "past." I've written before in my story about the lack of youthful preparation for any kind of sex life at all and how I never was told my worth from the beginning. In God's great wisdom, he sent an angel in disguise for me who absolutely knew the importance of sex and the value of it so much so that my hubby has no "past" to speak of except the one we've created together. Never once in our entire lives together has he ever uttered a cruel or unkind word about my life before he arrived. Not only that, but he makes himself available for me to talk about my past whenever I need to. I don't know if I could even do that.

In my story - I talked about how one would think that after my abortion that my promiscuity and general lifestyle would have changed, or be changed for me by my parents - but it wasn't. It remained status quo with just as much freedom as I had prior and perhaps even more. All of that freedom coupled with my now destroyed self esteem led to all kinds of moments over the next few years where boys took advantage, not just sexually, but emotionally and physically, and made me feel like less than nothing. It was like I had a target on my back for all the wrong boys. It didn't help that I was most likely looking for the punishment I now felt I deserved. I sought out people that would fulfill that need and oh did they find me.

My fear now is that I'm trying so hard to heal, so hard to become closer to Jesus, that snares are being set up to tangle me up in my past. My hubby isn't tempted to torture me for my past but I sure am. So I try to pray it away. I try to pray away all of the feelings that creep in of my unworthiness. I try to be grateful that God sent me this husband not only to give me life anew, but to slowly repair all the damage that had been done to me. At Mass last evening, after communion. I sat and prayed as the Eucharist melted away that each tiny piece, each minuscule fragment of Him would fill the cracks in my soul and heart. I prayed that He would replace the memories of my past with gratefulness and love. I prayed that time spent with my husband wouldn't have to be spent battling my ugly past.

It worked for a while until later last night with hubby sleeping peacefully beside me and as I lay awake in the darkness. I still feel broken. I still feel used. I still feel unworthy. I still feel damaged. Will all of this ever be healed entirely?

What brings you here?

2012-01-03T20:37:00.000-05:00

Lately, I've been learning a lot about search engine optimization and keyword strength and web traffic, etc. I check the stats on my blog from time to time just to see if anyone is reading. When I see a big upswing in visitors - I know for sure that Mark Shea of Catholic and Enjoying It fame has charitably mentioned my blog again and I remain grateful for his support.

When I started this blog, my hope was that a few people would read it, or stumble upon it. I had visions of lonely, scared, pregnant teenage girls reading it and find the strength to tell their parents, "No, I will not have an abortion!" I'll never know the actual reasons why people visit my blog, but I've discovered one interesting trend in my stats concerning keyword searches that bring traffic to my blog. By far, the largest amount traffic that arrives on my blog comes from people who search for "11 week ultrasound" or some variation of that phrase. Those words far outrank any other keyword in my traffic.

It started me thinking - are those web searchers currently pregnant and just curious as to what an 11 week old baby looks like? My hope is that if it's someone who is pregnant and contemplating an abortion, that they find that ultrasound picture and it changes their mind. I can't really bring myself to think about if I was given that option before my abortion - it makes me too angry and leads me to spiral to a very dark place. But, if one person is Googling "11 week ultrasound" to decide on whether to have an abortion or not, I'm glad they were led here and I hope to God they read some part of my blog and at least pause for a moment and rethink things.

It also causes me to wonder about something else... since deciding to go on the March for Life this year and the anxiety I'm having about it, mostly over what some people will stupidly sputter and the ugly signs they will blow up billboard size and carry - I tend to think that pictures of an 11 week ultrasound or whatever week - would be so much more effective. I don't think showing people what an aborted baby looks like has as much of an impact as showing them what an actual living, breathing, baby with a heart beat looks like before the violence of an abortion. Those are the signs people should carry outside of abortion clinics and on Marches for Life - show everyone life - and how beautiful and wonderful and ridiculously awesome God is with those beautiful pictures.

Also interesting is down the list of search keywords bringing traffic to my blog is "non communicating uterine horn" and "unicornuate uterus" which leads me to think that my condition is not as rare as the medical community purports it to be. Interesting...

Moms Are Many In One

2012-01-03T20:12:00.000-05:00

Many thanks to Fr. John Zuhlsdorf over at his blog What Does That Prayer Really Say for the post he wrote today with a great article about fetal cells that are left behind in the body of the mother.

Our Selves, Other Cells

Quite a few times during my Project Rachel counseling - this concept - microchimerism - has come up. It's a fancy word for when cells of one person mingle with another person. The article states the word comes from the Greek word for a mythological animal that is made up of several different animals - a Chimera. It seems science is just starting to scratch the surface of the whole idea. But, this article does a nice job of summarizing them and dumbing them down sufficiently enough for even me to understand.

The basic premise is that some fetal cells from any pregnancy, whether the child is brought to term, lost to miscarriage, or lost to abortion remain present in the mother's body - forever. These cells are even then passed on to other children the woman may have, so my daughters carry some cells from their sister they don't even know about in their bodies, and their children will carry them, and so on and so on and ...

The repercussions of the scientific facts are mind boggling and awe inspiring. The article goes on to explain the positive and negative effects these cells have on the mother. For my purposes though, the reality of cells left over from each of my pregnancies lingering around in my make up explain a lot.

When I wonder why I can't seem to let this whole "I'm post abortive" thing go. Why I'm unable to resist the gentle nudges of the Holy Spirit to perform acts of positive and healing redemption. Why now that I've opened my heart and soul up to Grace that there are moments when I can feel her. That presence takes many forms. For instance, right now it takes the form of tears streaming down my face as I again ponder the words of PJP II, "...nothing is definitively lost."

Not only is nothing definitively lost, it's definitively still here. She's here...inside of me. I carry her with me even now. I carried her with me when I ignored her. I carried her with me when I tried to run away from the very idea of her. I have carried her with me every day since that day all those years ago. I carry her with me just like I carry my other two within me.

When I have those thoughts that I'm in this struggle completely and utterly alone, that it's my cross to bear and not my husband's because it was before I even knew him, that she is not part of my family now - I'm completely wrong. I'm never alone. One thing is for sure, once you become a mother, you are guaranteed to never, ever be alone again.

"...they are no more."

2012-01-02T20:12:00.004-05:00

From Father Byers comes a moving and inspiring message about the Holy Innocents - and contained therein is a message for and about women who have had an abortion and seek redemption and what that redemption has the power to do. Much like PJP II's loving message the postabortive woman, Fr. Byers' is loving, tender and hopeful - as all messages to the postabortive should be because of what they could and do bring about if offered. You can read his full text here...

Rachel Derobe les Idoles de Son Pere

Father George David Byers of Holy Souls Hermitage.

Following is the part I loved the most...

"Women who have had an abortion are not abandoned by our Lord. They also can and do[!] find healing, though, in this world, refusing to be consoled, since “they are no more.” There is no sin that is too great for our Lord to forgive. If there were such a sin, we would be God, wouldn’t we? For we would then be more powerful than God. No. Instead, He is good and kind. He knows that killing our children is what we do in our fallen human nature. He knows that this is the reverse of being His image, which He created us to be. Knowing this, He sent His only Son to take on what we deserve, death, so as to have the right in all justice to have mercy on us. God can and does forgive: “Father, forgive them!” is what our demanded on the Cross! Yes, women who repent of their abortions can and do[!] find forgiveness and downright enthusiastic friendship with our Lord both in this life and the life to come. That they “refuse to be consoled” is one of those things from which our Lord draws great good. Women who have had an abortion note other children who would be the same age as their own children had they not been aborted. This can go on for a lifetime. HOWEVER, this is not an invitation to get depressed and go into despair. Instead, it is an opportunity to calmly pray for the conversion of women about to have an abortion or who have had an abortion. It is an opportunity to pray for the conversion of abortionists and for politicians. We are enjoined to pray for our rulers, that we might have peace upon the earth. I’m guessing that most of such prayer goes up before the throne of God, like a pleasing incense, as sent by women who have repented of their abortions and who are now friends with our Lord Jesus, who, by His grace, has claimed them for a heavenly eternity. Very awesome, that."

Merry Christmas Grace.

2011-12-24T21:31:00.000-05:00

For the one who should be here, but isn't. For the one who I have to grieve for in the shadows. The one who no amount of presents under a twinkly tree can make up for. I am still learning how to grieve for you and how to love you without hurting myself. Just put your sisters to bed...wishing you were here.

Breath of Heaven

2011-12-19T15:52:00.000-05:00

No, the ornament is not on the tree yet. Not sure what I'm waiting for. I'm not sure if I want it to be just a Christmas ornament. The funny part is my one child saw it sitting on my nightstand and asked why it was there, and why isn't on the tree, it's so pretty - it should be on the tree! I can't believe Christmas is only days away. This year is kind of difficult in that I won't be seeing any of my extended family until after Christmas so I will be somewhat homesick which doesn't always help matters. As I've talked about a few times on this blog - music is usually what soothes my soul when heading in to rocky waters. This song was played at my Rachel's Vineyard retreat. How appropriate for now. It's called Breath of Heaven and it's about Mary's questions and doubts and fears and how she keeps calling on the Lord for help, to just hold her together, to lighten her darkness, to be with her...now. It's a powerful song and haunting musically. I have a feeling it will be in my iPod rotation heavily for the next week or so.

Breath of Heaven ... hold me together...

My Angel, Grace...

2011-12-09T08:09:00.000-05:00

Yet another case study on the mind of a postabortive woman.

When I attended my Rachel's Vineyard retreat about a year and a half ago, I received this little angel. It's kind of a handmade ornament and very pretty. One of the suggestions at the retreat was to put it up on your Christmas tree as a memorial to your unborn child who you lost (lost? killed? allow to be taken? sigh....)

At the time it sounded like a good idea. What I didn't realize when I left my retreat which was mid-summer, was that for the next year - I would be confronted with each and every holiday and milestone now with Grace fully present in my mind. Like anyone who has lost someone they love, or lost someone and later had regrets about, etc., holidays and other important milestones can royally suck. I came to realize I had a slew of them on the horizon but I was determined to find a way to have Grace in my mind and memory and take a few moments at each one and remember her in my own way, allow myself to feel the grief I never addressed before, and then move on because that is what I believe she would want me to do. I often feel as though she doesn't want to look down on me crying and miserable, I like to think she's up there looking down with great excitement and happiness. When I allow my mind to go to the place where I'm thinking she has to hate me for what I did, I have to talk myself out of it and remind myself that I wasn't in the decision to abort alone - in fact I wasn't part of the decision at all. And, if Grace is in Heaven - where there is to be no more pain or suffering or sadness, then she has to be looking down on me and my family with joy. I digress... I'll blame that discourse on doubt on the Catholic forum I frequent where more than one person was trying to convince other people that babies who die without baptism cannot possibly, under any circumstance be in heaven due to the "rules" and basically labeled PJII a heretic for saying as much in an address to postabortive women. Can't we all just get along?

Back to the angel... last Christmas, which was the first when I was to memorialize Grace in some way since it was the first Christmas that I was outwardly recognizing her and all that happened to me over 20 years ago, I completely forgot about the angel ornament entirely until after Christmas. When I was taking the tree down while the kids were at school it hit me, that it was sitting in my nightstand drawer in a box with all my other little treasurers from the retreat.

What ensued then was what postabortive women go through constantly, for the most part, for their entire lives (much like exhibited in this very post). A constant battle of wills, good versus evil, self assurance vs. self punishment, belief in God's mercy versus despair. I'm not sure I'll ever fully win any of these battles to the point where they don't rear their head at some point in time, but I do handle it much better for the most part. Kind of depends on the day, the moment, the circumstances. This morning, I'm okay with it emotionally. It's there in the back of my mind. I'm alone at home now but luckily I have errands to run and things to do to keep my mind off of it.

A friend reminded me that the "enemy" who I'm assuming is the Devil will take every opportunity to screw with people. He's been screwing with me a lot lately, a whole lot and I'm not sure how to stop it. How many people have to tell me that aborting Grace was not my fault? How many times do I have to ask for some sign that I'm forgiven? How many times will I have to stomp down these doubts? I fear that it will be as many times as I stomped down the sheer thought of Grace for over twenty years as some kind of punishment. I know in my heart that the smallest of prayers could stop this screwing around with my mind but I won't take a moment to pause and do it which leads to more mind screwing.

I'm hoping that having the courage to bring the little angel down and place it on our beautiful Christmas tree would be the perfect way to end this particular battle, but I hesitate even still. It's still sitting upstairs - alone. Tucked away for no one to see, but I know it's there. Hidden from the world like I've hidden this shame for so long. What if I put it on the tree and someone asks about it. Just about all of the ornaments on our tree have a story or some special or sentimental meaning. My kids for sure will notice and wonder where it came from, where did I get it and why didn't I get them one - which if you have children you know that's usually the next question. This is one thing I hope they never get.

And if I put it on the tree - what's going to happen next. Will it throw me into a tailspin every time I see it, opening presents on Christmas morning with no presents for Grace. How many Christmases has she missed out on? What could I possibly give her to make it up to her?

It sounds so stupid when I think about - just put the angel on the tree! I wonder if anything will be that simple for me? Here's to courage and hopefully the angel doesn't spend another Christmas in a box.

How to Talk to Little Girls

2011-12-07T20:11:00.001-05:00

Though not usually a fan of the Huff Post and most of the time when I visit the site it's typically to fuss and fume and leave nasty comments. However, this time, they got something right without the usual ultra-feminist mumbo jumbo. I'm guilty myself of negative self talk and constantly compare myself to ideals I will never obtain without a full time airbrush artist, glam squad, personal trainer, private chef and plastic surgeon. I hope not to pass my insecurities on to my daughters. It gets a bit more complicated with my emotional baggage from the years of teen angst (how's that for downplaying it) that follow me still, so any way I can find to counteract it in any small way is a good find for me.

I am blessed with daughters who are as smart as they are beautiful - a fantastic combination when used for good. But, they still can use any boost possible against the onslaught of hypersexualization in their world that is only going to get worse I'm sure.

How to talk to little girls...

"Mom, did you wait?"

2011-12-01T15:38:00.003-05:00

I can only hope to be this brave and truthful when the question is asked of me by my children. I hope and pray that I give an answer that echos in their heart and soul. I hope that I am able to tell them how very precious and worthy they are. I hope that I can tell them all of this without being resentful for no one having told me the same when I wondered about it.

From Catholicmom.com... a wonderful resource.

Moms, teach your daughters well.

I think I just found some courage to witness at the abortion clinic this Saturday...

2011-11-08T22:44:00.001-05:00

Life has been busy as of late in good ways and not so good ways. I find myself struggling to nourish my soul in some fruitful way. When floundering, I usually have to find a way back to the basics of what's important to me and whittle down from all the things I want to do to the few things I want to do and am actually able to get done.

I've been feeling lately as if I've been neglecting Grace, putting her off because it's been too difficult to think about her even though I know that she doesn't want my thinking about her to be difficult. The unresolved issues with my Mom make thinking about her difficult because it all ties together. I can't compartmentalize Grace, and my Mom, and my life now. This mostly happens when I'm busy with my children and I push down the thoughts of Grace that come up because it hurts too much. But, sometimes, I am able to pause for a moment, acknowledge the grief I'm feeling, remind myself that I've been forgiven and keep going. I know that my Lord does not want me to wallow around in my self pity but to rest in the knowledge that Grace is with Him and is just fine and dandy, thank you very much. Oh ye of little faith.

One of the things on my revised to do list is to go back to the abortion clinic and participate in a peaceful and prayerful witness with a group of people that do so every month. On a grander scale, I've booked out the date of the annual March for Life in Washington, D.C. this year, we'll see how that pans out. The last time I went to pray outside the clinic was a few months ago and it was very difficult. I was alone as in I didn't know anyone there personally, but it's not essential that I have a buddy to go with me. Also, there were a lot less people that time. The first time I participated, our Bishop was there so obviously a lot more people showed up. I figured if I could stand close enough to him, or just kind of hide behind him, then I'd be okay. What's difficult is that it takes a lot out of me to participate, emotionally, mentally, and physically as I fight off the panic attack and the urge to punch someone - namely the screaming banshees down the sidewalk (not part of our group).

Tonight, however, catching up on the blogs I normally visit, on Fr. Z's Blog - What Does that Prayer Really Say, I came across a post with the transcript from Archbishop Chaput's address at the University of Pennsylvania entitled, Being Human in an Age of Unbelief. I do hope the good Archbp. proves out to be all bark and bite. In his address, he puts into words what needs to be at the heart of the prolife movement, at the heart of all the good that the Church does. After all the Fr. Pavone drama, I needed to hear something ringing true through all the noise. And just when I thought I was reading about the Church globally, Archbp. Chaput made it personal.

"What makes abortion so grievous is the intimacy of the violence and the innocence of the victim."

Therein I found the necessary courage to show up Saturday bright and early, rosary in hand. I won't ever know if my witness there has any affect at all, but I have to be there. I know what is going on behind those ugly walls and that chain link fence. I know what those clueless escorts are leading those women into. I know what's going to come afterwards...10 minutes after they leave that ugly building and what will come 20 years later. I know what is coming and I know that it will never be left behind.

Finding Forgiveness

2011-10-18T10:03:00.001-04:00

     I’m wondering if I can’t, won’t, refuse to even entertain the idea of sitting down and really consider forgiving my Mom – why aren’t I?

     Is it because if I resign myself to forgiving my Mom, then there is nothing left? I’m done. My journey is over? Now what? The circumstances surrounding forgiving my Mom are complicated because I will never, ever be able to actually tell her that I forgive her. I will never, ever be able to ask her any questions about my abortion. Because of these impossibilities – I’ve hit a road block. I know that I can write a letter, prayerfully contemplate forgiving her, imagine what forgiving her would be like and the words that I would say and imagine the words I would want to hear in return. Part of my counseling is to not only write a letter to her if possible, but write one from her to me with the things I would want to hear from her. The idea of that makes me feel like I’m 5 years old and I have no right or authority to speak for my mother.

     I’m not sure it will be enough. I’m not sure if an imaginary, one-sided forgiveness is going to be enough to chase my past away. There is a small part of me that wants to pick up the phone and ask her what the hell was she thinking. Does she have any clue of what my life has been like since having an abortion? Does she realize the pain that I’ve carried around for 24 years? Does she ever think about it? Has she gone to confession for it? Has she told a priest that she handed her daughter $300 to have an abortion because she was too selfish to do anything else? Every time abortion is mentioned during intentions at Mass, every billboard she sees, every news debate she hears, every time she hears the word – abortion – does her heart skip a beat for the grandchild she doesn’t have here on earth? When she takes my girls out to lunch – does she think that there should be one more?

Or did she really think it was the best thing to do and her heart was really in the right place? Was she operating under a set of circumstances that time and experiences were guiding her toward? Were there other factors involved that I don’t know about? Had she ever have an abortion? Why didn’t she go with me to have it? Why has she never mentioned it to me in 24 years – not once?

Quite honestly – the answers that I imagine her offering to me don’t offer much help or healing for me. I could be wrong, but I doubt it. I’m quite certain that she would completely deny the abortion ever happening, completely deny her part in the abortion, or completely twist the history around to argue that I was the one who wanted the abortion and not her.

It’s only been a couple of years that I’ve allowed myself to feel anger towards my Mom and feeling that anger towards her has a payoff for me. I can hold onto it towards myself for just as long. And if I’m angry and resentful, there’s little room for joy and happiness. Depression is easy for me. Happiness is hard.

Being angry at my mom over the abortion has proven to be the tip of the proverbial ice berg. Many of the mistakes of my youth I’m angry over and I’m angry that my parents allowed for a lot of them to happen when they had the power to prevent them. The biggest of these is promiscuity beginning at such an early age. Yes, I made the decisions to do all the things that I did, but why did I make those decisions? Why did I think it was okay? Why did I think that giving away my body and saying okay to things I didn’t want to do was my only option? My parents never tried to stop me. My Dad is off the hook, sort of, for the abortion because he wasn’t aware of any of it until a couple of years later, but where was he during my teenage years? Where was he when I was deciding to have sex at the age of 15?

I don’t want to throw my parents under the proverbial bus because in a great many respects actually, they were really good parents – they still are. All the good things that I am I owe to them for laying the foundation. My Mom always told me that I could do anything I set my mind to. My Dad encouraged my education and pushed me to study harder and to never stop learning. He’s 74 now and for only having a high school education and one year of college, he remains one of the smartest people I’ve ever known. My Mom is no dummy either. She was ahead of her peers as well and skipped a grade or two in her education because of her intelligence at a time when girls being smart wasn’t in fashion.

My father greatly valued and encouraged my music education and with each instrument I picked up and mastered, his pride grew. I’ll never forget the first talent show he attended where I sang solo and he was utterly blown away because he never heard me sing by myself before. He was actually speechless afterwards. The look on his face and in his eyes – I’ll never forget.

But then there are other expressions and reflections in his eyes that I’ll equally remember forever. I remember his disappointment over me packing up my instruments and leaving the marching band because I wanted to be a cheerleader. This was a bone of contention for a long time. It remains a running family “joke.” I remained in concert band and choir and participated in district and regional orchestras and choirs – but since I chose to also pursue something that seemed fun to me – but frivolous in his eyes – he never got over it. But, instead of sitting me down and telling my why he was disappointed and challenging me to rethink my decision – he just let his condemnation be known in belittling and hurtful ways. It hurts even more now, because to this day – I see that he was right all along.

I got further and further away from music. I still every now and then will pick up my flute or clarinet just to see if I can still play, and I can. It saddens me to think of the applications to colleges I passed over because they were for music. I have a guitar in the back of my closet that I long to learn to play – at least more than I already know from self instruction. I think in the back of my mind of how great it would be to help with Youth Groups and maybe retreats, guitar in hand and touch people with music and song. But now, it seems so far removed from who I am presently.

It seemed there came a point when I was about 13 or 14 that Dad just washed his hands of me. He didn’t agree with me being a cheerleader for football so he stopped coming to games later on in high school. So, he wasn’t there when I left after to go be with a boy or run with my friends with no supervision. I would come home late and my parents would be asleep. Sometimes my Dad would be awake reading, but he wasn’t up waiting for me, he was up because he hadn’t finished his chapter yet.

Sometimes I want to pick up the phone and call my Dad and ask him what the hell was he thinking. How could he be such a good Dad in so many areas but then completely fail in others? I want to know what he thought after he found out about the abortion. Was he angry with me or with my Mom? Did he let her have it and defend me and scold her for failing as a mother? I doubt it. My Dad will and has always defended every action my Mom has ever taken, good, bad or indifferent, to himself or to anyone else. He’s so steadfastly loyal to her that I would find no closure there either. Does he ever think about the grandchild he is missing? When he sits with the girls on his lap reading to them from the newspaper or telling them which political pundit is an “idiot” is he missing the third one that should be there?

In their defense, it was a different time and my parents are of a different generation with vastly different child rearing practices than I practice myself. Maybe they didn’t ask questions because they didn’t want to hear the answers. They gave me freedom as a reward for excellent academic performance and proper choices in extracurricular activities, but they had to know what other activities I was up to. Or they knew but didn’t care. Or they knew and they didn’t care enough to stop me, or even to try to get me to slow down, or at least ask me what was going on.

There are few conversations with my Dad that I remember like they were yesterday and one was shortly after I broke up with my boyfriend for the umpteenth time. The weekend came and I had a new boy coming to take me out on a date. Before he arrived, my Dad came to my room which in and of itself was a rare event. But, he came in and looked me in my eyes and told me that he knew I was sad about the breakup and that he could see how much I cared about him, but I was young and this was the time to date and have fun and that boyfriend wasn’t going to matter one iota later on. He said he also saw how my boyfriend didn’t always treat me in the nicest of ways and maybe I need to give someone else a chance to treat me better. I guess he was paying more attention than I thought. The new boy came to the house, rang the doorbell, met my parents, offered me flowers, and off we went. I had a new hope in my heart that things were going to be better and that I would be able to put away my Air Supply records until the next heartbreak.

Sadly, I only had one date with the new boy. We had a nice time and a fun night, but at the end of it, when he brought me home, I about attacked him in the car and pretty much let him know that I was a sure thing if he wanted it. That one pep talk from my Dad wasn’t enough to undo what I thought of myself or what I thought I needed to do for a boy or what I was supposed to do. The only thing I thought I had to offer was physical. My Dad said to give him a chance, but I thought that making things easy for him was giving him a chance. That was the only thing that any boy had responded to for me in my young life. So even though I remember that talk from Dad and have carried it with me – that I deserved better – I should have heard it a lot earlier and a lot more often and I should have heard it from both my parents.

To this day, my mother can un-do me with a turn of a phrase. Hell, a look from her can send me into a swirling storm of self doubt and second guessing.

It sounds so cliché to blame your mistakes in life on your parents and I hate to even go there for a millisecond. I feel like it’s a cop out. Having been taught my whole life that I could do or be anything that I wanted, having failed at so much and made so many mistakes has to be only my fault because I was the captain of my ship and no one else. But, that’s where I’m wrong and I have to keep reminding myself. My parents did drop the ball in some areas and this was a doozey. I carry the wounds from this screwed up thinking to this day. My husband constantly has to remind me that in this life, we are in everything together. Whereas I will go down the road that it’s my fault that this happened to us, or my fault that that happened, or where we are in life is because of my choices and my decisions, he is quick to remind me that since we said our vows it has never been just me – it has been us. But I can’t seem to let go of the feeling of isolation for the negative parts of my life. When I’m happy – it’s all of us. When I’m not – it’s all me.

Even with this journey, he’s held my hand all the way through. He’s made himself available whenever I needed to talk and has pushed me to talk when I didn’t want to and rightfully so he’s been frustrated when I shut down and don’t talk for weeks because I feel I’m all alone in this. What an insult to God for not using the most perfect gift he gave to me in a spouse. Will forgiveness of my Mom and my Dad and, therefore, myself, bring me back to joy? Since I can’t pick up the phone and offer my forgiveness and I don’t expect a call from Jesus reminding me of my being forgiven – where am I to find it?

If I refuse to forgive, if I refuse forgiveness, the pain remains. I’m still in love with the pain. My journey has brought many wonderful and grace-filled things into my life, I’m afraid that if the pain goes, I have no more right to them.

Child of My Heart

2011-10-06T12:36:00.001-04:00

I've carried this song around for a while and it really speaks to me and all that I've gone through. It captures how I feel about Grace and where she is now, where she's been since all those years ago, what I picture her to be know and how my journey has gone since losing her. I can't write much more about it right now. I'll let the music and pictures speak for me.

I've lost my joy in the shadows.

2011-10-03T14:09:00.002-04:00

     Through all of my counseling over the last two years I’ve learned so much. I’ve revisited a lot of my past and tried to make sense of most of it. I’ve tried to accept the things that I can’t make sense of or have no control over. I worry though – as I seem to be reaching some kind of precipice in my healing journey – if I have truly lost a part of myself that I may never get back. Of course there were circumstances and events in my life beside the abortion that have picked apart my confidence and self esteem, but I’m not sure if any compare to the abortion as far as the complete obliteration of any sense of true happiness. It has picked away at my ability to feel sheer joy.

     I’ve had a long struggle with recurrent depression and now more than ever I’m able to recognize the cyclical nature of its appearance and dormancy, but before the depression moved into to my mind and heart to take up even part-time residence, I was happy. Now, I find myself waiting for that happiness to return and so far, nothing. I keep thinking that someone is going to come along and say, it’s okay to be happy now!

    It’s as if I’ve sealed myself off from any pure feeling of happiness. I find myself stifling the feeling when I can on purpose so I don’t feel it. My personality has changed over the years – probably the last ten in particular – from outgoing and gregarious to the point of almost having a panic attack in a room full of people. It’s not all the time and I’m able to manage it for the most part – but I’m different and I don’t know if I’ll ever return to a happy and carefree person and that is kind of scary because I want to be happy. I miss that person.

     Typically my husband and I are pretty good at balancing each other out. When I’m down, he pulls me up. When he’s down, I provide the pep talk … but not so much as of late. It’s become quite unbalanced in that I’m the one that seems to be always down and I’m afraid I’ve left him feeling as though he needs to walk on eggshells around me. I’m not sure if it has to do with my drudging up so much of my unpleasant past. All of the bad and horrible things in my life took place before my husband even entered my life and it’s caused me to feel that I’m still back there in that time and space and now I can’t shake it off. I tried so hard to forget so much and I’m afraid I won’t be able to forget it again.

     What if this is my punishment? What if as a trade off for searching for recovery and healing and forgiveness, I’ve had to turn in my joy card? What if now I have to make up for the 20 years that I didn’t feel horrible about my past? From the day I met my husband on, I was happy and joyful and little by little that joy has eluded me.

     We had a few stressors in our young marriage, but we made it through and our relationship never once faltered. If there was one constant that I knew I could cling to through it all – it was my husband and my marriage. I wonder if seeking out this healing and recovery from my past has now cast a shadow over my marriage that didn’t exist before. I’m afraid that my past is now creeping into the last bastion of goodness that I have left. I’ve forced myself to confront this head on and in that confrontation, my husband was by my side for every step but now I’m afraid that it’s become part of him too. What if I’ve robbed him of happiness in the process?

     Or is this just another mind game to make me think that I’ll never be okay? Just another issue drummed up in the darkness of my soul so that I will never, ever escape the shadow of my past and just to make sure of it… it will now overshadow my husband too so don’t get any ideas about trying to be happy myself – it won’t work. My mother-in-law used to always tell me that I had a light inside me…I’m afraid it’s gone and it won’t ever be lit again.

What do I know of Holy?

2011-09-17T20:54:00.001-04:00

Along my journey I’ve learned a lot that I never knew before. Being a cradle catholic and a product of the 70’s and 80’s catechesis does not lend itself to becoming a properly and well-formed Catholic adult. There is no syllabus available that I know of or a guide on how to get started on getting your spiritual groove back. I read a lot. I read a lot on line and visit the Catholic blogosphere. There is a lot of great information and great writers out there. But sometimes even those forays can be exhausting and frustrating. I never knew there was so much division in the Church. Can’t I just be Catholic? Do I have to be a traditional Catholic or an orthodox Catholic or a NO Catholic? Sometimes I feel as though no matter what I do at Mass, I’m doing it wrong according to somebody. Sure, I have my preferences for what I like when I go to Mass. I have those things that make it feel more authentic to me. Give me an old, Gothic church with real candles, tons of them. And I’ll take a reverent and holy priest that takes 15 minutes to do the dishes over someone who whips through like he just picked up a cheese tray at a cocktail party. But, you know what, I’m not in charge and I’m not there to police how it’s done. I’m there for what I hope is the right reason. But, of course, those kinds of statements make me sound just like the people I’m complaining about I suppose.

I try to remain focused on my spiritual growth and that of my family. Just because I’m coming to terms with my past and am healing, I don’t want to stop the spiritual journey that I’m on, I’m just not sure where to go next.

I try to keep my spiritual world a nice little “neighborhood” where I don’t have to worry too much about what’s going on the other side of town because if I do that I lose sight of what I need, what my soul needs, what my family needs. So, I try to learn as I go. Now that I have some free time on my hands, I’m looking for classes I can take or spiritual programs at nearby retreat houses and the like. Even though I’ve learned a lot, I still have times when I feel like I’m at my confirmation Mass and I’m trembling with fear over being asked a question by the Bishop and not knowing the answer. (I did get a question by the way, and I knew the answer!)

This post abortion journey has become what I hope to be a lifelong spiritual journey overall. Sadly, often, I just feel like I don’t know a single thing about God, or Jesus, or my religion or how to be a good Catholic. At those times I just have to give up and give in that sometimes I don’t know anything. I just have to be at peace to just be, because I can only be what I am...so far.

I am so much more than this...I am so much more than this...I am so much more than this...

2011-09-17T20:39:00.000-04:00

I have had a lot of change in my life over the last month or so. For the most part it has been positive change, the kind that the march of time makes inevitable. At the same time, some things remain the same and some of those stagnant things are not very positive at all. So, I’ve been frustrated and overwhelmed lately by both good and bad and trying to keep my head above water in the process. Some days are better than others. Some days I just hit the auto pilot button and mechanically go throughout my day. Other days, I’m overscheduled and my to-do list is much too ambitious which leaves me scrambling and exhausted and frustrated at my failure at not doing it all at the end of the day. The payoff for muddling through either of these ways though is that it doesn’t leave much room for feeling anything good, bad or indifferent and sometimes that’s just the way I like it.

I think most of my floundering with the recent life changes was caused by my belief that I was prepared for it when the reality is I was poorly prepared, if at all. All of the day-to-day and big change turmoil threw me into a “I have no idea what to do next” panic. But, a wise and gentle priest reminded me one time that there is grace to be found in the times when I have no idea what to do next. The grace may come in something unexpected that I hadn’t thought of or it might come from taking good and effective time to flush it out. Or more possibly, it may come from His revelation to me and I just have to be patient and wait. Patience is definitely not one of my virtues.

It’s often in these times though, that I become confused and misguided. I try so hard to do everything that I can’t focus on one or two or a few things. Then I become weak in mind and spirit. I begin to feel as though I’m tackling everyday demons and real demons. I will have vivid and brutal nightmares that intrude on my sleep and shudder me awake. I will have impulsive thoughts when I’m alone that are scary and seem to come from nowhere. The kind of thoughts that if you utter them aloud, you’re sure to buy yourself a nice little vacation at the local mental rest home. Those thoughts are difficult for me to talk about with even those closest to me, because I’m afraid that I will shatter the image they have of me.

Most people who know me would probably describe me as confident and self-assured, not afraid of a fight and not easy to back into a corner, loyal to a fault and brutally honest. Most of these attributes I would agree with and own. However, the tragedy of my past makes all of these qualities somewhat of a uniform that I’m able to put on to face the world. I’m also able to remove it – or have it removed for me – in the places where I feel safe enough to do so or at least when I’m vulnerable and hurting enough to allow someone else to take my guard down for me. This is sometimes not an easy task, as my husband will tell you. I will often put up walls around my heart that no one has a chance of getting through. It is at those times when I’m at my weakest and my most hurting and sensitive, when all shred of confidence is long gone and I can’t even raise a hand to shoo a fly. This is what the circumstances of my past life and my abortion have done to my soul and I hate it.

Surprisingly, even at the depths of this hopelessness, I have never really lost the ability to love or to give love. I can do that. I can pour it out on other people and never reach the bottom of the well. It’s the receiving of it that I sometimes am completely unable to do. I simply will refuse love. I refuse it from my husband. I refuse it from my children. I refuse it from God. Why? Because even though I’m healing on this journey, along the way, there remain pieces of time, some small, some not, when I close off my heart, refuse to see good, refuse to feel joy, refuse to luxuriate in the precious life that He has given me.

A new strength found on my journey is the ability to recognize this refusal of love for exactly what it is and where it comes from. It’s my Achilles’ heel that, though scabbed over, will sometimes be torn open once again leaving the wound as raw as it was the day I walked across that bridge.

Living with the shame of having had an abortion can permeate everything about the woman who has one. I’m trying to learn how to not let it permeate me so much as integrate it into and with my life. It will always be a part of me, but I can decide how it will be part of me. For so long it was a part of me that was pushed deep down and often bubbled to the surface nearly destroying me from within. Now I still carry it with me but I know what to do with it, most of the time. Now that I acknowledge having done it, and have dissected all of the circumstances around it, and believe that Grace is in Heaven watching and waiting for me, I try to find ways to let all of this be part of me but not consume me. [Interesting choice of words here still... “it,” “it,” “all of this,” as opposed to abortion, abortion, abortion – like I said, a journey.]

In my now days (as opposed to weeks, months) of refusing to be loved, I begin to realize all the more quickly that I am hiding from no one really. No one important to me anyway. And how utterly ridiculous of me to think that I was really hiding out from He who knows my every move before I make it and my thoughts before I have them. More quickly do I feel the gentle nudge to go to Adoration, to visit Church, to pray. My being a postabortive woman is not the only thing that I am. Some days it feels like it is, but I’m so much more. Maybe if I say that enough I will start believing it and the doubt will finally and forever be gone.

Lil-Wayne's Prolife Message from liveaction.org

2011-09-09T12:19:00.000-04:00

Can't say I was ever a Lil Wayne fan b/c I'm just too old to "get it." However, came across this link on the Liveaction blog... had to share. Wow. That's all I've got.

http://liveaction.org/blog/lil-waynes-pro-life-pro-love-message/

On the Ravages of Abortion

2011-09-07T16:11:00.000-04:00

In this enlightening article by Meg Matenaer on CatholicMom.com - Fr. Matthew describes the ravages of abortion. Personally, the embedded conflict rings true as does the despair - which has to be the most insidious part of being post abortive. I don't know if the despair will ever fully and completely go away. The rest of what Fr. Matthew lists could serve as a checklist for a lot of my life.

http://catholicmom.com/2011/09/07/on-the-ravages-of-abortion/

Stay focused on the road.

2011-09-05T21:25:00.002-04:00

     August 22, 2011 was the 24^th anniversary of my abortion. This was only the 2^nd year that I actually acknowledged the date that I lost Grace. It remains difficult for me to talk about it in concrete words like, “lost.” Did I really lose her? No, I allowed her to be taken. Actually, if you get down to the nitty gritty, I allowed her to be killed. It remains painfully difficult on some days for me to acknowledge any of this and there are days when I hate the fact that I do at all. I hate how weak and vulnerable facing this fact of my life makes me feel. I hate how pathetic and ridiculous I am about it sometimes.   Faking strength and wholeness was much easier than this. I hate even more that a lot of it wasn’t even my fault. I hate making what sounds like excuses for what I did. If all of it was my fault and I was the one person 100% responsible for my getting pregnant and having an abortion, I think I could deal with it better. I would have one person to hold accountable and answer to. I would have one person to take out my anger and rage on. I would have one person to blame and one person to answer my unresolved questions.

     All of these mitigating factors and the surrounding circumstances leading up to that day complicate my decision to allow myself to grieve the loss of Grace. After almost 2 years of therapy, I still continue to carry most of the burden of my abortion myself, even though I was 17 years old and had no wherewithal to not do what my mother told me to do. It was a different time. Getting knocked up was still scandalous and brought shame to your family. I literally had no one to turn to for help or a differing opinion about what I might be able to do instead of having an abortion. But with one sentence, one order, one command from my Mom that we were never to speak of it again, the event of that day was swept under the rug and into the deep recesses of my soul. I remain amazed and overwhelmed that His Mercy also dwells in the deep recesses of my soul.

     I can’t speak to what my Mom did with the memory of that day. I can guess, but I’ll never know. It’s not something that I can ever talk to her about or find some resolution for, for a number of reasons. I will never, ever have the kind of closure that I would like to have or need to have. So, I try instead, to pray to not need it. I pray that I can remove some of this guilt and burden from my shoulders because it was never mine to fully bear.

     As the anniversary date approached, I wanted to find some small way to honor Grace that wouldn’t make me fall to pieces.   I decided I would visit the retreat house where I attended a Rachel’s Vineyard weekend. After a rough weekend filled with all of the usual drama and every day catastrophes and ups and downs, I anxiously awaited my husband’s return from work that day so I could go out alone for a few hours. I stopped and bought a pretty bouquet of flowers. When I arrived at the retreat house, I carefully separated the bouquet into two bouquets. I had brought two little cards and some ribbon and on each card I wrote, Grace Anne, 8/22/87. I placed one bouquet in a little Mary Garden at the retreat house. There is a statue of an angel that looks kind of like what I picture Grace to be, a young woman with angel wings. I stayed for quite a while in the silence. I wrote a bit. I cried a bit. I even laughed a little because as I looked over the little garden, I noticed a randomly odd little menagerie that accompanied Mary in her woods. In the garden also were two dragonfly stepping stones, a little “thinking” turtle, an owl, and a few chubby cherubs. I chuckled as I tried to figure out if there was some meaning behind their placement that only some higher minded individual could interpret. The only hidden message I could figure out is that it’s all random and none of it makes much sense to any of us mere mortals.

     The 2^nd bouquet of flowers I placed on the Memorial to the Unborn at my parish. This was done under cover of darkness and is quite a big risk for me as I’m always afraid someone I know will see me. My husband suggested we go and plant a bunch of flowers there…in broad daylight. I told him he was nuts. Someday, maybe…not yet. I quickly placed my bouquet there and drove home.

     The rest of the evening went as most of our evenings do and I’m sure I did a good job of seeming okay. My hubby tiptoed around me a bit as he often does when he’s not quite sure what I need. Admittedly, I had been pretty emotionally shut down for the week or so before this anniversary so I can’t blame him for steering safely clear. But, as he often does, he found a way to touch my heart from a safe distance and had left a letter for me in my car with instructions to read it when I got to where I was going. I won’t share all of his words to me because they are ours alone, but I will share a part of it and it’s the part that titles this blog post.

He told me how proud he was of me and my journey of the last two years and though it will always remain somewhat forever incomplete, that I could take solace in the fact that even though my steps have been fraught with distractions, self doubt, pity and loathing, that I had, for the better part, remained on the road that had always been there from the beginning. I had remained for the most part on the lighted path and had only side stepped a few times into the misery and despair that darkened the other pathways.

He also took care to remind me that even though I may sometimes still feel like the scared girl that walked across that bridge 24 years ago, I have now become a gatekeeper of sorts of that same bridge, able to give others pause before taking the next step. These are the words I hold onto as I stay focused on the road.

Psalm 51 - The Miserere: Prayer of Repentance

2011-08-22T12:13:00.000-04:00

Have mercy on me, God, in your goodness
in your abundant compassion
blot out my offense.
Wash away all my guilt;
from my sin cleanse me.

For I know my offense;
my sin is always before me.
Against you alone have I sinned;
I have done such evil in your sight
That you are just in your sentence,
blameless when you condemn.
True, I was born guilty,
a sinner, even as my mother conceived me.
Still, you insist on sincerity of heart;
in my inmost being teach me wisdom.

Cleanse me with hyssop, that I may be pure;
wash me, make me whiter than snow.
Let me hear sounds of joy and gladness;
let the bones you have crushed rejoice.
Turn away your face from my sins;
blot out all my guilt.

A clean heart create for me, God;
renew in me a steadfast spirit.
Do not drive me from your presence,
nor take from me your holy spirit.
Restore my joy in your salvation;
sustain in me a willing spirit.

I will teach the wicked your ways,
that sinners may return to you.
Rescue me from death, God, my saving God,
that my tongue may praise your healing power.
Lord, open my lips;
my mouth will proclaim your praise.
For you do not desire sacrifice;
a burnt offering you would not accept.
My sacrifice, God, is a broken spirit;
God, do not spurn a broken, humbled heart.

No words...for the moment.

2011-08-21T10:43:00.000-04:00

I find myself approaching this, the 24th anniversary of my abortion, at a loss for words, at a loss for actions, at a loss...

But, I'll find my way back to it. Even though I'm shut down now, I can't and won't remain this way. So for the time being, I'll let song and music and prayer, the laughter of my children and the light in my husband's eyes carry me through my "change in the making."

"Do not depend on the hope of results..."

2011-08-10T10:58:00.000-04:00

When I first had the idea for this blog… I had my list of pros and cons ready to discuss with my husband. We had lots of pros, very few cons. Among the cons: the nut-jobs, whack-a-do’s and other assorted just‑plain‑crazies that would undoubtedly find my blog and attack it or me personally, or both. So far, the nut job contingency has been relatively silent. I thank God for the delete button that I am able to press in a matter of seconds, resisting the urge to fight back or worse, be thrown into despair because of something some idiot in cyberspace feels the need to say to me.

The pros list was quite long – but the biggest pro for my blog was the one I most likely would never have a measurable outcome for. I had to be sure that I was okay with that. I can sit and try to analyze my “stats” page all I want but, really – I pray more about those who read my blog who I have no idea about. I pray that just one 17-year-old girl out there is reading my blog and finds the courage to show it to her mom after two lines show up on the pregnancy test. I pray that just one Priest will find some small morsel of insight from my story to help one of his sheep that come looking for forgiveness and mercy. I pray that just one woman who thus far has told everyone to “keep your rosaries out of my ovaries” has just a twinge of a change of heart.

I have been blessed with feedback and comments from a variety of sources and I remain completely overwhelmed by the receipt of them. In the moments where I wonder why I started this in the first place, I look to them for reminders. I have to admit that I do print out all the comments I receive and do an old-fashioned cut and paste job into my paper (yes, I said paper) journal.

A glimpse of some of the blessings bestowed…

“May you know God's mercy and love in an intimate way and rejoice in the reality of his Resurrection. May our Lord give you the strength you need to carry your cross with love and patience, and give you his peace.”

“My friend, this is what I needed to read! Make today beautiful!”

“I am so glad that the Holy Spirit prompted you to put your blog back out there today! God loves you so much and I so appreciate you offering your blog to help others!!!!!”

“God Bless you, dear. God met you in the road with tears in His eyes and ALL of Heaven rejoiced.”

“Saw your sign on the Groups wall (I regret My Abortion), just wanted you to know I think you must be a very strong person and that God loves us no matter what. We all make mistakes we regret or are forced to do things because we can't find another way.”

“God bless you!”

“Your blog is so beautiful; it's almost made me cry. Your post about adoration especially is wonderful.”

“When we receive absolution God wipes us clean of the guilt of sin and does not remember it at all. It is Satan who wants us to doubt the efficacy of God's grace through His sacraments.”

“You are not alone. The reason I don't ask God to take my suffering away, or to take my memory away is that I want to suffer those moments (not wallow in them) in reparation and penance for myself and others. I give my suffering to Jesus, place my little cross next to His, take a hold of Our Mother's hand and then move forward again. I hope this is of some small help to you. May you be blessed with deep knowledge of His Mercy.”

“What you have gone through is a terrible thing. But even an abortion is not bigger than the love and mercy of Jesus (or His Church). And you are valuable to the Church. And we need you.”

“The Devil hates growth in holiness, because it moves the person further from his corruption. When starting on the path towards evil, Jesus simply waits for you with open arms. When starting on the path towards holiness, the Devil becomes rabid with fury - and a war begins. The battlefield is your soul, and the holier you seek and strive to become, the bloodier the battle. The holier you become, the harder the Enemy will try to drag you down - because you are closing yourself off to his temptations.”

“Place your trust in God and Pray for St Michael's help. But ultimately, who should you fear? He's on your side because you are on His. If you truly only want God's will to be done who should you fear? Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for Thou art with me. I love the story of one saint (I don't remember which one), but the devil came into her room and started a ruckus. She rolled over and saw him and said, "Oh, its only you." and then rolled back over to go to sleep.”

“Wow. Tears are flowing as I type. Thank you for sharing your story. I hope it touches the hearts of many confused girls out there! You're in my prayers!”

“Don't give up.

“If anyone out there 'knocks' what you're doing, what you have shared, it is irrelevant to the purpose God intends, and any opposition may quietly draw in persons who need the site. You have done a good thing.”

“You have a beautiful blog. The background reminds me of the infinite ocean of Mercy that Jesus spoke about to Saint Faustina. God bless you! You will be in my prayers.”

“What a beautiful post! Adoration is so powerful, and yet so gentle and personal. No one could be worthy, and yet His Love makes all of us worthy. So glad you are on the front kneeler now!”

“I loved reading this! I remember that part of my retreat too and it felt wonderful.”

“Perhaps a good way for all of us to evaluate where we are as Christians is to ponder, ‘This is my body.’ How do we follow that statement? Is it with ‘and I will do with it what I please’ or with ‘which will be given up for you?’ It seems to me that you have moved a long way on that scale.”

“Thank you for writing this blog. Those of us who never had an abortion still have friends and relatives who have- even if we don't know about it- and your journey is eye-opening.”

“My baby was killed in Pittsburg[h], too, in 1973. I have told a few people, but I've never really talked about it. I was 17 also.”

“Thank you for carrying this cross with patience and dignity. May you have Veronica to give you a bit of comfort and affection when you need it and Simon of Cyrene to help when you just cannot do it alone and may the presence of Our Blessed Mother and her prayers give you strength.”

“I too am a Rachel's Vineyard graduate. I lost my child to abortion when I was 18 years old. It was the saddest day of my life. Please continue to keep speaking out so that others will never know the pain that we have had, never experience child loss the way we have. God Bless you”

“Thank you for starting this blog. Please keep writing. I'm looking forward to following. I think you have a very important message.”

“I believe God led me to your blog today. Thanks for putting it out there.”

“I saw you link on the Catholic Answers Forums. Your posts are very poetic and moving. Good luck with you site!”

“God's blessing is with your blog even if you never or seldom see the results. I will keep you and those who need the grace God wishes to offer through this blog and through prayers, in my own daily prayers. May God continue to bless you and your family, and others through you.”

“Thanks for the blog link … Know of my prayers and Christ's forgiveness for you. Pray for my brother-priests who minister uncharitably. God Bless.”

“I've been blessed working with a woman who's been heavily involved in Rachel’s Vineyard and other Pro-life organizations that [has] helped me be more attentive and gentle, particularly with women who are post-abortive.”

“Glad that the initial priest didn't harden you from finding someone who would more accurately reflect Jesus' love for you.”

“I like the element of discussing the upcoming Sunday Mass readings, which can really help folks live the liturgy a lot deeper. God bless you!

“Amazing! Thanks so much for sharing this... the thing about publishing is that you never know how much good your words will end up doing. I'll share it on my blog this morning...”

"Do not depend on the hope of results. You may have to face the fact that your work will be apparently worthless and even achieve no result at all, if not perhaps results opposite to what you expect. As you get used to this idea, you start more and more to concentrate not on the results, but on the value, the rightness, the truth of the work itself. You gradually struggle less and less for an idea and more and more for specific people. In the end, it is the reality of personal relationship that saves everything." ~Thomas Merton

Sink or swim, or walk as it were… (Part II)

2011-08-06T09:42:00.001-04:00

I am a huge fan of music – of all kinds of music. Most popular music typically holds ulterior meanings for me in the lyrics. There is a song by the Indigo Girls called “Ghost.” It’s a song about being in love with the ghost of a past love, what appears to be a romantic love in the song. For me, the haunting lyrics speak to me in my struggle over being in love with the ghost(s) of my past – the ghosts that allow me to wallow in self pity and keep me from my full potential because, let’s face it, being good all the time is hard work. For me, it’s about being in love with Grace’s ghost, being in love with the sound of the machine that took her from my body – and not in love with who she really is – my daughter living in His presence. Which Grace I choose to love plays out in large part on my daily life. I thought of this song when reading tomorrow’s Gospel because there is a line in the song that goes, “And I guess that's how you started, like a pinprick to my heart, but at this point you rush right through me, and I start to drown.” I have to remind myself that being in love with ghosts causes me to drown, but my faith in what’s really true allows me to stay on top of the water, holding hands with Jesus.

There's a letter on the desktop
That I dug out of a drawer
The last truce we ever came to
In our adolescent war
And I start to feel the fever
From the warm air through the screen
You come regular like seasons
Shadowing my dreams

The Mississippi's mighty
it starts in Minnesota
At a place that you could walk across
With five steps down
And I guess that's how you started
Like a pinprick to my heart
But at this point you rush right through me
And I start to drown

And there's not enough room
In this world for my pain
Signals cross and love gets lost
And time passed makes it plain
Of all my demon spirits
I need you the most
I'm in love with your ghost

Dark and dangerous like a secret
That gets whispered in a hush
When I wake the things I dreamt about you
Last night make me blush
(Don't tell a soul)
And you kiss me like a lover
Then you sting me like a viper
I go follow to the river
Play your memory like a piper

And I feel it like a sickness
How this love is killing me
I'd walk into the fingers
Of your fire willingly
And dance the edge of sanity
I've never been this close
I'm in love with your ghost

Unknowing captor
You never know how much you
Pierce my spirit
But I can't touch you
Can you hear it?
A cry to be free
Oh I'm forever under lock and key
As you pass through me

Now I see your face before me
I would launch a thousand ships
To bring your heart back to my island
As the sand beneath me slips
As I burn up in your presence
And I know now how it feels
To be weakened like Achilles
With you always at my heels

This bitter pill I swallow
Is the silence that I keep
It poisons me I can't swim free
The river is too deep
Though I'm baptized by your touch
I am no worse than most
In love with your ghost

Sink or swim, or walk as it were… (Part I)

2011-08-06T09:33:00.008-04:00

From Today’s Gospel - Mt 14:22-33

Peter got out of the boat and began to walk on the water toward Jesus.

But when he saw how strong the wind was he became frightened;

and, beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!”

Immediately Jesus stretched out his hand and caught Peter,

and said to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

        I have a great little app on my phone that has all the daily readings so I can jump ahead to see what’s coming. I find it to be useful to refocus my mind when it’s starting to drift to parts unknown – or known but where it shouldn’t be going in the first place – or known and visited many times before only to my own detriment – or known and only visited as a means of self punishment for sins already forgiven. It always amazes me (because He is utterly amazing) that usually when I do this, the words on the screen speak to me so directly, so overtly and address so perfectly whatever assault of the mind I’m currently having.

        The Gospel for tomorrow is a familiar story (even to this Cradle Catholic) [Note to self: you said you were going to start actually reading the Bible cover to cover.] I’ve heard this gospel many times in my life but, overnight it took on new meaning for me. (Don’t you love it when that happens?) I have a lot of idle time this weekend which can be a blessing and a curse. Last night it was definitely a curse wrought with bad movies, a touch of insomnia and way too much time on the Internet. I read some really great things about prolife activism which unavoidably leads to really horrible things about prochoice activism. I could spends weeks on end responding to all those out there who disclaim the after effects of having had an abortion. I’d love to dissect the studies they refer to as proof that such effects don’t exist and that my current issues only exist because I had pre-existing issues before my abortion. I’d love to debate those out there who claim that abortion is good for women and a necessity or else back to the back alley we’ll go. I’d like to tell them that the horrors of the back alley abortions they thump their fists about are not too distant from the horror of having an abortion in a “legally approved” facility. No, I didn’t die from my abortion – not physically. But, Grace did die and part of me died with her. My youth died. My zest for life died. I walked out of that clinic a changed woman, a changed girl really, never to be the same again and it wasn’t just because I was no longer pregnant and my “problem” had been resolved.

        So many prochoicers out there love to argue that prolifers don’t really want to help women in a crisis pregnancy. Are we going to adopt their baby? Will we give them money, shelter, food, diapers? I’d like to ask the prochoicers – what are you going to do for those women who you escort into and out of that abortion clinic? What are you offering to provide afterwards? Since you don’t believe there are any ill effects from having had their legally sanctioned abortion – I guess you aren’t there to help them through the years of darkness and despair, bring them back from the edge of suicide attempts, explain their ongoing sexual issues, help to manage the terror of being found out, the grief over the idea that the Holy Mother Church they love might now reject them. I have yet to see prochoicers offer up some post abortion healing and recovery. Maybe there are such people out there – but I doubt they are addressing the real problem.

        I was wrong in my thinking about my Church for a long time, even though I was kind of absolved of my abortion many years ago – I still lived in fear of eternal damnation. Even confession wasn’t going to save me. Today’s Gospel is a reminder of how wrong I was for far too long.

"Immediately Jesus stretched out his hand and caught Peter,

and said to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

It makes me chuckle a little over the idea of Jesus, standing on top of the stormy water, the Son of God holding out His hand to Peter and Peter seeing Jesus standing ON TOP of the water is still doubtful? What’s it going to take Peter, really? I wish I had that kind of proof! Peter had it right in front of him, literally, and he still doubted. And herein lies the good part – just a little faith is all you need sometimes to keep from drowning. Jesus will never let you drown as long as you have some little spark deep within you.

        When I find myself going down the old roads to where I’m wondering if it’s all true, is it all real, why am I here, why do I write on this blog, why is the sky blue… that little flicker deep within just needs a bit of fanning to become a fire again. So now, I reach out for Jesus’ hand however I’m able. I pray, I write, I pester my Priest, I go to Mass, I go to adoration, I hug my children, I seek out my husband who knows just what I need and why.

        Most of the time I feel like I’m walking on the water, sometimes I feel like I’m walking in the water a bit with it sloshing around my ankles, but I’m not drowning. Perhaps sometimes we need to sink just enough as a reminder. Kind of like when little kids have swimming lessons – if you’ve ever seen the Plexiglas platforms that are submerged in the deep end, just as a precaution for new swimmers. The instructors let them thrash about a bit but then remind them – just put your feet down – and they can stand because of the invisible platform beneath their feet. It builds their confidence while they learn to swim better.

        When Peter cries out, “save me!” – is Jesus really saving him from drowning or saving him from his “little faith?” I think we all need that from time to time. I find that on my journey – I have those things that I know to be true, core, unshakable beliefs – but I also have doubts that nip at me, thoughts of despair that creep in, thoughts of the baby I allowed to be killed. At those times, when I’m falling back in love with the ghosts of my past – instead of the realities of my present – I hope that Grace is watching me and runs to our Lord and tells Him, please, help my Mom – and He appears once again, hand outstretched, to save me not from downing, but from myself.

Ivan Aivazovsky, 1888

Look at me...

2011-07-30T23:00:00.000-04:00

As I approach the evening hours tonight, I delve deeper into my memories of my Rachel’s Vineyard retreat last year at this time. Sometimes I can’t believe it’s been a whole year, other times it seems like a week ago, and there remain moments when I feel like I never went at all. That is when I pray for the graces that I received that weekend to return to me, to my heart and my mind and buoy me until I can plant my feet firmly back on the ground of my truth that thankfully is getting stronger and stronger each day.

I often will list (and re list and visit the old lists) of the positive and reparative things I’ve done and taken on since this journey begin. It helps to remind me of the good that has come of all of this. It helps me in my moments of darkness when the enemy is nipping at my heels and every other part of me that is exposed. Sometimes, too, the enemy has a way of barging right in on me without warning, bypassing the sneakiness that is usually employed. But, I remain strong in my faith and say a silent prayer and repeat as necessary. Reflecting on everything is also a good reminder that this will always be a part of me. I lost a child and that sad fact will remain with me until the end of my days. What matters now is how I deal with that fact.

I left that retreat with a full heart and I remained quite puffed up for some time. However, I did descend from the mountaintop eventually, and fears and doubts returned a bit. My cyclical life-long depression returned, luckily recognized and managed quickly. I was offered and accepted additional Project Rachel counseling and continue with it to this day.

Of all the things that I gained on that weekend, the event that changed my life for good was the adoration of our Lord.

At the start of my healing journey, I had just discovered adoration, not having much experience with it before. I even Google’d it before a 40 hours adoration that my parish had to see what I was to do there. I didn’t feel remotely worthy of being in the presence of our Lord in that way. My belief in the Real Presence has permeated my life through times of devoutness and times of being a lapsed Catholic at best. I have never believed in communion in the hand because my hands aren’t sacred, but I refrain from receiving differently because of my own insecurities. The fact remains that I don’t feel that I should be handling our Lord like that.

I went to my Church during 40 hours and sat way towards the back of the church. I saw the kneelers right in front of Our Lord and oh, how I longed to be brave enough to kneel right there, that close to Him. I stayed in the back and would glance up occasionally.

We are fortunate at our parish that there is adoration once a week, all day. However, it’s in the Chapel, a much smaller and intimate setting and a terrifying reality for this unworthy servant. I would always take a seat in the back rows of the chapel. The kids from school come to adoration for a small time throughout the day, and some of them sit in the front row. I thought how brave they are! Of course, my mind set was that they hadn’t had an abortion so of course they were welcome up front!

One time I had the whole Chapel to myself and I tried to talk myself into moving up closer. I thought about what would happen if I lay prostrate on the ground before Our Lord. My luck would be that someone would definitely come in at that moment. But I thought, just maybe, if I did that I would make myself worthy if I physically threw myself down at His feet pleaded for mercy, mercy that I would actually feel and know to be true.

All of those times spent at adoration along my journey, I lived in constant fear of being “found out.” Like a big “A” was blazoned on my forehead. I wasn’t worthy to be in His presence. How dare I even think about approaching Him? Just like that woman in the dust and dirt reaching out to Him – but I never reached out or looked up.

Throughout the counseling leading up to my retreat, I started to open the door, ever so slowly, to the idea that I was worthy and that no sin was greater than His mercy, that He actually wanted me there, that He was waiting for me.

I found that the more I went to adoration, the better I felt. I started to look for adoration hours wherever I could find them when I had time to go. [Note to self: we need an App for Adoration Times… Jesus is here! ] Many years ago, churches were open all the time and you could visit whenever you felt the inclination or need. Now, you have to call the church and talk to the sometimes dreaded parish secretary about getting into church and then most likely have to explain why.

This leads me to the adoration that changed my life for good. We had scripture mediation in the chapel at the retreat and a Marian Monstrance was displayed. Kind of like the picture I have included. It’s basically the image of Mary and she is holding our Lord. They draped some fabric over it to symbolize Jesus’ garment. People took turns approaching the kneeler and touched the garment and asked for what they needed from Him.

This particular meditation was torture for my soul. I couldn’t move from my seat. I was 3 feet from our Lord, closer than I had ever been and I was racked with sobbing that I tried to muffle as best I could. I never did take my turn at the kneeler and the exercise ended. In His great providence, the retreat leaders said they would have the same set up through the night for “anyone” who wanted to visit later. I went back to my room, threw out my decimated contacts, popped in some new ones and went to dinner.

Late that night after a long talk with a very kind and gentle Priest, I tiptoed up to the Chapel and found it empty except for Him. I walked right up to that kneeler and shook as I knelt down. The cloak lie somewhat over the top of the kneeler and I was careful to avoid touching it for I was still in my despair and afraid. I was afraid to look up. In the quiet of the Chapel in the candlelight, with the sounds of nature outside, I heard His voice.

“Look at me.”

And I did. I looked up and saw Him, in His mother’s arms. Mary led me to her Son reminding me that although He was the Word made flesh, He was her son too. Mary loved and cared for him just like I have loved and cared for my children. This Marian Monstrance reminded me that even He, at many times in His life, needed His Mom to hold him. Mary lived her life loving Him and adoring Him.

I began to feel that my adoration “from afar” was not what He wanted from me. I could adore Him in the same way I was learning to love Him. Mary illuminated His humanity with the fullness of who He was – all at once. Surely, I could meet Him this way and be this close, and look up and gaze upon His humanity and divinity contemporaneously. Mary was becoming my model for adoration in that moment. She was teaching me to hold Him too, within me, close to my heart and to fiercely protect His presence in me.

I was able to ever so slowly move my fingers just a bit and hold a piece of that garment in my hand and I felt His mercy reign down over me and through me. The tears came again and this time I dried them with His garment because I was worthy of His care. I was worthy of His love. I was worthy of His mercy.

Since my retreat, I still go to adoration whenever my busy life as a mom permits. I’m the one on the kneeler right in front. I haven’t tried to prostate myself yet but it’s not out of the question. After Mass, when our Priests are in the back to say Hello, I often will reach out and offer a loving pat on the arm, but I have ulterior motives in addition to wanting to show my love for our Priests. It allows me to just touch a piece of their vestments, just for a second, as a reminder that I am worthy of the Christ who he represents.

"Do you realize that Jesus is there in the tabernacle expressly for you - for you alone?
He burns with the desire to come into your heart...don't listen to the demon, laugh at him,
and go without fear to receive the Jesus of peace and love...” - St. Therese of Lisieux

I have been changed For Good...

2011-07-30T08:23:00.000-04:00

Lots to think about this weekend and reflect on since it's the one year anniversary of my Rachel's Vineyard retreat. The Priest at our retreat used this song to demonstrate reconciliation and how sometimes, we are forever changed, For Good, even though it may have been something truly horrible that prompted that change in the beginning. But with our Lord's infinite mercy, we find infinite grace.

Who can say that I've been changed for the better?

I have a tiny circle of people that have held my hand and different parts along this journey and I have been changed for the better for having known all of them for whatever reason they reached out their hand for mine and helped me through.

Divine Mercy in My Soul

2011-07-28T13:19:00.000-04:00

Hopefully this weekend I'll get a copy of St. Faustina's Diary. After the last week or so and with what I have coming up in the next month or so - I need Divine Mercy in My Soul. I have it in my head, sometimes in my heart, I've felt it in my soul. But, I need some practice in keeping it in all of me so that nothing shakes this most important truth that sometimes is the only thing that keeps me going.

2011-07-28T13:09:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I got in a kind of debate with some folks about what happens to a woman (or in my case, a girl) after she has an abortion. It still stuns me that some people think nothing happens to a woman who has an abortion except that one minute she is pregnant and the next she is not. I'm sick of debating friends and colleagues over "women's rights" regarding abortion - if it's such a hard won right and should be so protected - why is it so shameful? Why is it so hidden and kept secret? Why are abortion clinics tucked away behind buildings with the windows covered by cardboard or paint?

I'm not able to make a strong enough case to change some people's minds, but I'll still try from my little soap box here on the web.

The grief that sneaks up on you...

2011-07-26T11:26:00.000-04:00

I would like to extend an invitation to any person in psychiatric academia to pick my brain for a while to find out if, indeed, post abortion syndrome actually exists.

I’m aware that the anniversary of my abortion is looming, so a lot is being and going to be drudged up. I’m better able to handle it now, armed with my faith and what I know to be true, with my acknowledgment that I have lost a child and am allowed to grieve for her, regardless of how I lost her, and the ability to allow the grief to wash over me for a time and then leave it at the foot of the Cross…again.

There are moments, however, still, that none of the above matters one iota and certain thoughts and feelings, long suppressed and/or never acknowledged or given a voice or outlet, consume me. It’s often at the most inopportune times, when I don’t have time to allow it, when I have no choice but to push it down deep inside because of my duties as a mother to my two living children.

My eldest asked me today if I was ever pregnant in the summer time. I immediately said, no, I wasn’t, which is good, because I don’t do well in the heat to begin with, I can’t imagine doing it pregnant. Then I remember, yes, I was pregnant in the summer time. In the middle of summer in 1987, at this time, all those years ago, I carried Grace inside me. The 11-12 weeks that she was growing inside me was all I physically knew of her. I didn’t get to experience the rest of being pregnant with her. I didn’t get to feel that first butterfly tickle of movement and then the all out gymnastics of an almost to-term baby in the womb. Those feelings are what I loved the most about being pregnant and what I remember the most. But I don’t have that memory of Grace. I have no physical memory of her in that sense.

At least here, I have a place to put my thoughts for now. I pray for the strength to find the grace in the truth I’ve discovered this morning prompted by a simple, innocent question by Grace’s sister. Was it Grace that prompted the question? What am I to do with it now? Or, is it something evil causing me to yet again, bring it up and torture me? I like to think I have some control over what it is and why. I say a silent prayer, a few silent prayers, over and over in my mind while doing the dishes, while combing hair and making ponytails, while folding the laundry.

Jesus, please help me. Jesus, I’m sorry. Mary, guide me. Grace, forgive me.

Rachel's Vineyard

2011-07-20T10:01:00.000-04:00

"A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children; and she refused to be comforted because they were no more." Matthew 2:18

I remain completely overwhelmed and stunned at the response I've received thus far with this blog. Some have offered words of encouragement and support, others prayers and "pats on the back" for my bravery (easy to be brave with the anonymity online though). Most importantly I have had a few comments and/or emails from other women like me who have had an abortion - some who have sought healing, some who have not, and others who have never talked about it at all.

So, I offer the following link Rachel's Vineyard and Project Rachel. I have experienced both Project Rachel one-on-one counseling and have attended a Rachel's Vineyard weekend retreat. In addition, you may contact your local diocese for information about their abortion recovery program. You can also ask your parish priest for contact information. I would strongly encourage any post abortive woman to seek out healing - no matter how long its been. I am a living testament to the power of what our Lord's mercy can do for one's heart, mind and soul whether it be peace of mind when you go to sleep at night or the ability to hear the word "abortion" and not visibly shudder. Whatever it is you need, you will find it here...

Rachel's Vineyard

Project Rachel

National Office for Project Rachel

In my Father's house...

2011-07-17T19:12:00.000-04:00

I’m not sure when the panic started for me about the father of my aborted child, Grace. I’ve been involved in counseling for almost the past two years and it wasn’t until recently that the idea of the father of Grace came to the forefront of my mind and thoughts. It seems as though I am running out of pieces to put together on this journey and the closer I come to its completion, “someone” throws me off, steals a puzzle piece or tries to give me a new one that would never fit into my puzzle so I’m tortured by a futile attempt at making it fit.

Maybe it was Father’s Day this year that prompted it. That would make sense since now that I am finally grieving the loss of Grace – each special occasion or holiday since the first steps of my journey is now tinged with a poignancy that I hadn’t acknowledged before. Thus, Father’s Day would be different this year.

I’m blessed to have had a good father myself. I grew up under his encouragement and belief that I could do or be anything I wanted to do or be. He valued my intelligence and encouraged my education. He was a good example in many ways of what a husband should be as he provided for his family and he worked alongside my mother, not extolling some of the chauvinistic traits that some in his generation would. But there were areas where he fell short. He wasn’t there for me emotionally or spiritually. We were never close in that way that some fathers and daughters are. And, obviously, he didn’t instill in me any sense of sexual well being at all - not entirely his fault as I’m sure that he thought my mom was taking care of that.

I hit the jackpot with my husband though, having found all of the good and virtuous things that my father encompassed and added to those were everything that was missing from my relationship with my father. The Lord sent me a man who helped me piece back together my sense of self and show me the beauty that sexual intimacy should be and would be.

Maybe that’s what started the panic about Grace’s father – watching my husband in action. I began to ache over the idea that he’s not Grace’s father. I started to wonder about the what-if’s. What if I didn’t have the abortion, Grace would have been about 7 years old when we started dating. Would he even have wanted to date me knowing that? Would he have accepted Grace as his own child? What kind of relationship would I have with Grace’s father for the rest of our lives?

I’ve been wrestling for a few weeks now about who Grace’s father is – since I was unsure and it was quite possible that it could have been one of two people. I started to think how I could approach my husband and ask him to be Grace’s father in some symbolic way. I prayed about it and thought about it and talked about it. As I sat at Mass last weekend, I had a feeling come over me (a feeling that I recognized immediately as having had before on this journey) and that feeling told me that I did know who Grace’s father is.

Okay, so I make the decision of my truth about who Grace’s father is and I start to let that stew for a week or so. I allow myself to think about all of the variations of what could have happened had he known I was pregnant. Would the outcome have been different? Would Grace be here today? Would I be where I am? I almost have to set a timer when I allow myself to go down those roads because it’s a long walk back sometimes. But it allows me to think about it and then let it go.

I had to be reminded in counseling this week that I can’t take on new guilt now that I’ve named Grace’s father. I can’t allow myself to feel guilty for having robbed him of a child. I’ve seen and read a lot of things lately about men regretting abortion and what it does to them and although I know that it must be true – I didn’t have a choice in telling him that he was going to be a father. Although I’m still quick to take the blame completely for my abortion, I have to remind myself that I was 17 years old and I didn’t have a choice. My mom told me not to tell anyone so I didn’t… not even the father.

This weekend started with me allowing these new thoughts and feelings to settle into my soul. After work one day, I went to a church to sit and write in my journal and pray. Luckily there is a church nearby my office that is open sometimes and it’s a gorgeous old Gothic church, just the kind I like. I sat for a while in the silence and allowed the thoughts to come and go hoping to find a way out of this panic mode – waiting for an answer.

The day before I had emailed my Priest (an awesome Spiritual Father that I’ve gained on this journey) and asked for some prayers as I often do when times are tough. He answered with kind and thought provoking words of wisdom. As I sat in the church and thought about everything, I remembered one thing that he had said in his response, “Ultimately, you and Grace are the Father's children.”

Could it be that easy?

The one answer that would give me peace about it all. The one answer that was really the only realistic one that I had to cling to and the one that left no doubt at all about its truth.

It doesn’t matter (at least in the way I’ve tried to force it to matter) who Grace’s father is on this earth. Although it makes me sad that my husband isn’t Grace’s father – it’s unrealistic to ache over it. Yearning for this undiscoverable truth has cost me time and energy that I’ll never get back.

So, I put my pen and journal down and wept at the simple and yet colossal idea that I could put the panic to rest that had taken up residence in my heart and mind because in my soul, I knew the truth – that God, the Lord and Father of all, was and is Grace’s father and that’s all she needs where she is. He was her Father when she was formed in my womb, and He is her Father now and forever.

I lit a candle before our Blessed Mother and asked for her protection and guidance. I asked her also if she could go to her Son and please ask him to watch over whoever Grace’s father is on this earth and if he has earthly children to help him to a be a good father to them.

I went back and sat in the pew and prayed some more, or tried to. Whenever I seem to have some epiphany about something – the warfare starts all over again in my mind. I attempt to pray it away until I hear the Pastor locking doors and setting alarms in my Father’s house.

A double-edged sword...

2011-07-12T11:16:00.000-04:00

Another one of my many issues is completely biological and anatomical. After my last Cesarean section I had a hysterosalpingogram performed. It was after this test that it was discovered that I have what is known as a "unicornuate uterus." It's a rare and mostly congenital condition (described below). Of course, at this diagnosis my mind went directly to the notion that it may not have been congenital at all - and may have been physical trauma from my abortion. I'll never know the true answer to that question.

However, what I do know is why when my husband and I tried to get pregnant - it took a long time and we never really knew why. Right before we started any infertility type treatment - I would end up pregnant on my own (well, not on my own, but you know what I mean - with no medical intervention). After two successful pregnancies - my OB told me that had he known of my condition before those two - he would have told us to start looking for a surrogate or some other way to have children because my chances were that slim or non-existent. He also told me it was possible that I had some miscarriages along the way that I didn't really know about. When we went back over all of our charts from NFP - it was clear that I was not ovulating regularly or sometimes, not at all - no temperature spikes, nothing. With only one functioning tube - now it made sense.

I think of this as a double edged sword - because most women (those who haven't had an abortion) would look at this as a complete blessing from heaven that they had two healthy children in spite of this rare anomaly. However, in my clouded mindset - I do reflect on what miracles my children actually are but it's colored by the idea that my abortion may have been the reason why I had such trouble getting pregnant when we wanted to. It may also be the reason I won't be able to have any more children. I'm too damaged and the risk is too great.

The good thing is I'm getting better at recognizing the grace and the Grace in all of it and ignoring the negative thinking...

Even with a unicornuate uterus, a non-functioning fallopian tube, etc., I have two beautiful and healthy children here on earth and one as my own personal guardian angel in Heaven.

A unicornuate uterus is a uterus that has a single horn and a banana shape. Approximately 65% of women with a unicornuate uterus also have a second smaller or rudimentary uterine horn. The rudimentary horn can be solid or it can have a small cavity with a functioning endometrium. Sometimes the smaller horn connects to the uterus and vagina, but more often it is isolated or non-communicating.

A unicornuate uterus is the least common congenital uterine anomaly and represents 1 to 2% of cases. A unicornuate uterus can be asymptomatic. However, women with a functioning non-communicating horn may experience pain during periods, because there is no outlet for the menstrual fluid. Women with a unicornuate uterus are at risk of reproductive complications. They may have a difficult time becoming pregnant because typically only one fallopian tube functions. In fact the condition is sometimes first discovered when a women undergoes an infertility investigation.

Pregnancy can occur with a unicornuate uterus, and the term pregnancy rate is approximately 47%. But women with a unicornuate uterus who do become pregnant are at risk of: Spontaneous abortion - it is thought that the abnormal shape of the uterus itself and compromised blood flow to the uterus and placenta lead to spontaneous abortion.

Premature labor - since the uterine cavity is smaller than usual, the baby outgrows the available space earlier in the pregnancy and there is an increase in breech presentation during delivery.

Surgical correction of a unicornuate uterus is not possible, as the uterus can not be enlarged. Cervical cerclage may be recommended for women with a unicornuate uterus who have experienced miscarriages or premature births. Pregnancy can also occur in a non-communicating arm. The situation is similar to an ectopic pregnancy and must be treated as an emergency. If pregnancy occurs in the non-communicating arm, uterine rupture occurs in approximately 89% of cases by the end of the second trimester. Because of this risk, surgical removal of the non-communicating arm is recommended. Removal of a solid non-functioning arm is not necessary.

Diagnostic procedures
It is difficult to diagnose a unicornuate uterus with ultrasound. The condition can be visualized with MRI, three-dimensional sonography and with laparoscopy.

Treatment
No surgical intervention is required unless endometrial tissue in a rudimentary horn results in pain or a pelvic mass or unless an incompetent cervix is suspected during pregnancy. A rudimentary horn may be excised to treat endometriosis and prevent an ectopic pregnancy. Cervical cerclage may be recommended during pregnancy in women with a history of miscarriage and/or premature birth or if an incompetent cervix is observed.

The good, the bad, and the ugly.

2011-07-10T15:00:00.000-04:00

I was up and at it early Saturday morning to get ready to leave to go to Mass and then pray at the abortion clinic. The night before I tried to relax and dispel the warfare in my mind – a few glasses of wine usually helps. A big stumbling block for me on this journey and part of the reason for this whole blog venture – is that my story and my healing and my past have to remain essentially a secret for the time being. I have small children who aren’t able to understand yet and shouldn’t have to hear such things about their Mommy. I’m sure at some point in their lives, I’ll be able to talk to them about it, but until then, I have few outlets for all of these feelings and thoughts.

Adding to this is the fact that I didn’t talk about my abortion for so very long that once I started, it was like I couldn’t shut up about it. I couldn’t turn my mind off about it. I started to look at everything and feel everything against the backdrop of my abortion. I really have to practice discipline when dealing with all of this or else it would overtake my life and I simply don’t have time for that. It would be way too easy to curl up in a ball and shut the world out and wallow in my despair. Not saying that I haven’t done that for an hour or two or an entire afternoon before. It would also be very easy for me to become the Prolife Superhero if I didn’t have the necessity of anonymity reining me in at the moment.

But in His good time – we will see what unfolds. For now, this is my forum with countless pages of paper I write on and emails that I pester my poor, but patient Priest with, the times that I’m in counseling and the talks with my husband after the kids are asleep are the only time I have to really talk about this part of my life. It becomes a fine line between hashing out my past and living in the present. There is a lot of work to be done, but not a whole lot of time to do it. Add to it too that sometimes I’m in such a hurry to help someone else that I don’t recognize that I still need help too.

Saturday was a reminder of that need. Feeling bolstered by my participation in the Mass, rosary in hand, I was ready. This is all the “good” part of the title of this post.

Why is it that abortion clinics – in all their do-goodedness and their “helping” of women – are often tucked away somewhere, with quite frankly, an ugly and desolate entrance? This particular clinic is in the rear of a building, with chain link fencing all around, nothing descript save for one sign identifying the building. Of course the pro-choicers would argue they have to disguise themselves this way because of the horrible profilers when in actuality – I tend to think of the old adage that if you have to do something in secret, it’s probably not the right thing to do.

The group I was with was much smaller than the first time I prayed outside an abortion clinic. The first time the Bishop of our Diocese was with us and that brought a lot more people out, there were more clergy, etc. Yesterday, there was no clergy at all. A sad fact for me and I’m sure the other witnesses. The person in charge thanked the celebrant who jumped in at the last minute to celebrate the Mass. The group is minus a Chaplain at the moment and is waiting on a new one to be appointed. I don’t know, but there is something about having the Priests there the last time and of course the Bishop, I felt better being able to be close to some alter Christus (Christi? Christae?), protected and safe. There are a few videos on YouTube of some Priests that surround an abortion clinic on four sides and pray – I’d like to see the stats on those days of women who changed their minds.

Anyway, I digress. This group prays 15 decades of the rosary and in between they sing a portion of a song – which is a bonus for me because I can sing as loud as I choose and nobody looks at me like I’m nuts. They also have a large crucifix and a picture of Our Lady of Guadalupe. It’s a prayerful, peaceful witness across the parking lot from the door of the clinic. They use these little walkie-talkie type things so everyone is on the same page and can hear and they ask people to use one to lead a decade. The gentleman in charge did approach me and asked me to do just that, I silently shook my head, no. Not up for that one yet, Lord, nice try though.

I faired pretty well as I did the first time I prayed outside of this clinic. My feelings and emotions are all over the place the whole time. It’s uncomfortable at times because I know exactly what each woman is about to face when they get of their car and walk through that door. I know what each tiny infant is about to go through. I know every little sickening detail and I know what they are going to face when they come back out. They think they just solved their “problem.”

It’s difficult to watch each woman get out of the car too because none of them are alone like I was so it’s hard for me to watch and concentrate on my prayers when the anger starts to bubble up inside me at my own circumstances. I temper it with thoughts of my Grace, thoughts of her glorified in Heaven and looking down on me with a smile on her face, happy that I’m finally at the place I am and not ignoring her any more. She makes me feel okay about it for most of the time. I ask her to intercede for me with our Lord and give me strength.

The strength I need for the ugly part - to not run down to the end of the sidewalk and punch out the woman who stands there and screams at each car that pulls in to the parking lot. This woman is not part of our group – thank goodness. I guess she is a regular there each week. She sits in her chair and when a car pulls up she stands up and starts waving papers around screaming things like “baby killer,” “don’t kill your baby,” “you’re going to hell,” and the like.

She doesn’t get it. None of those kinds of protestors do. There was another “gentlemen” across the way and he yells and screams too. Don’t they realize that maybe some of these women are choosing abortion because someone already screamed and yelled at them? Or maybe they are choosing abortion because they are afraid that someone will scream and yell at them? They are running inside the clinic to get away from your screaming! Idiots. So I keep breathing and praying to quell the anger and frustration.

The 15 decades were finished. I watched about 6 or 7 women go into that clinic and 3 or 4 come out. I hope that Grace helped to take those little souls and usher them to Heaven. I hope that my witness there that day made some difference to someone. The drive home was difficult but gave me time to sort out some thoughts and ready myself for reality. Time to put it away for a while.

Good days... bad days... good days that turn bad...

2011-07-08T16:21:00.000-04:00

So, I've been having a few really good days. A good day is defined by not being crippled by bad thoughts, guilt, self loathing, etc., being able to smile, be happy, laugh, be grateful. On good days, I'm fantastic. I even did a good deed today... but sometimes good days can turn into bad days quickly. I should have expected it since I'm planning on going to the abortion clinic tomorrow to pray outside. I should know that there are forces at work that don't want me to do what I plan. That's when a good day turns bad and all I can think about is this...

11 week old baby in utero

“The feeling remains that God is on the journey, too.” St. Teresa of Avila

2011-07-08T00:12:00.000-04:00

Well, I sure hope that he is because I need him!

I'm so completely and amazingly overwhelmed with the response I have gotten thus far with this venture. It's more than I could have ever hoped for. After a couple of days of having my story out there, I had times when I wanted to trash the whole blog and forget about it, what's the point, why am I doing this, it's not going to help me...but then a peek back in my journal reminded me of one of the reasons I had written down about why I wanted to start a blog at all - to help someone else - anybody else. Bolstering my own psyche was a welcome side effect.

In the last year and a half or so of my healing from abortion - I have tried lots of different things to try to "fix" myself. Of course, I'll never be fixed in the way I imagine - none of us will I suppose - but I have been able to take on some things that are reparative in nature and try to move me step by step from the 17 year old girl who had an abortion to a woman who lost a child. That's a big step and even after I take it - I find myself taking 10 steps backwards again. Some days I still feel as though I'm walking around with a giant A on my forehead and everyone knows! I have just a few people whom I talk to about this and it's difficult sometimes to even face them. I really hate being a coward. It's hard not to think that everything that goes wrong in my life isn't a direct result of my having had an abortion - that I'm being punished continually in all manner of ways, but then I'll get a glimmer of something to remind me that all that is essentially hogwash. So, back to my journal to force myself to write down some good things that have come out of this journey and some things that may lend me some insight as to why I took the first step toward healing.

I can't pinpoint the moment when I thought - oh gee, it's been 20+ years, I think I'll talk about my abortion now. I don't remember any one thing happening that prompted me. I think it was more of a gradual awakening to the idea that this pain, this hurt, this void and my despair that no amount of Zoloft could shake had to be dealt with - and now. I had to find someone to talk about it to first - so let's just go all in - and find a priest! Go big or go home right? I had confessed my abortion years ago - while still in college wherein I was told that I was "absolved," but that he "couldn't guarantee it!" Um, thanks. That's worthy of a post on its own I'm sure. What's the statute of limitations on bad confessors?

As I sat here and typed out the story of my abortion - I had to just let it settle in for a few days. As I was putting it out there for the whole "world" to see, the person I was most worried about reading it was my husband. Although none of it was really new to him - I still worried that this would be the moment when he would say, "Well, that's it, I'm outta here." Like somehow he was going to see just how truly horrible I really am and run for the hills. But, my personal "St. Joseph" came through again - with love and acceptance and understanding, as always. He did remark that it was difficult for him to read and he was angry about it, not angry at me, angry at all of the circumstances, angry that I had to go through it.

I think the whole idea for this blog started a few months ago when I took my first foray into pro life activism. I joined a group of people who were offering a prayerful witness outside of a women's clinic on a Saturday morning. It was a pretty big group so I felt kind of safe in there. There were a few women there with the signs that say, "I regret my abortion!" I don't think I'll ever be that brave, but one of them did stand behind me for a few minutes so I felt like - oh boy - now everyone is really going to know! But I just kept breathing and clutching my rosary. It actually was really good experience for me. I was able to hide my tears behind sunglasses and I could ignore the other crazy protesters with their disgusting signs and their hateful yelling. (Note to self for another post - "How NOT to witness outside of an abortion clinic.") When I first thought about joining them - I didn't think my being there would do anything - I'm not going to stop anyone from having an abortion. But, a wise priest reminded me that I could pray for ALL of the souls there that day. So, I thought about all those little souls that would be leaving this earth that morning so that's what I concentrated on. I just tried to picture my Gracie, ushering those little souls to Heaven with her and that maybe she saw me there and was proud of me.

So, I'm heading out again this weekend to offer the same witness. I will have all manner of spiritual warfare going on in my head from now until I get out of the car at the church so I'd appreciate any prayers you might have to spare.

The story of my abortion...

2011-07-04T10:43:00.001-04:00

Since I started this blog – I’ve wondered when I would take the time to tell my story as it were. I’m not sure why I’m moved this morning to tell it, maybe because it’s Independence Day and this will be another step toward my independence of the impact this story has on my life today. I apologize for the grammar and structure as with this story - I have to just let it flow out as it comes without going back to edit.

This will be the 4^th time I’ve told this story. The first time I told it was to my husband a few weeks after we started dating leaving out most of the details. I told it a second time was to a Project Rachel counselor at my first appointment when she said, “so, tell me your story.” I was surprised at how easily the words came and how with each one, brick by brick it seemed, the weight of my story began to lift.

The third time was at my Rachel’s Vineyard retreat where I told my story after a few others had told theirs. This time it was to a room for of counselors, retreat team, a caring and warm Priest, and my fellow retreatants. What struck me were the similarities of our tales of woe – striking me more deeply were the pieces that set me apart from my retreatants – or most of them. Aside from the two other post abortive women on the retreat as part of the retreat team – I was one that was furthest away from the day I lost my child. The other thing that was vastly different was the condition of abortion clinics between then and now or most recently. The general process is the same, but now it seems since clinics have found their footing – they’ve enhanced their bedside manner a bit. The last thing that really stood out among all the stories I heard that day was that I was the only one that faced the actual abortion utterly and completely alone – at 17 years old. Which, I’ve come to learn in the last year or so has a lot to do with what makes me who I am now.

I don’t think my story is that unique or “special” in any way. I’m simply one of millions of women out there with a similar story and even though there are so many of us hurting from a past abortion – it’s still a very lonely thing. It’s still a lonely place to go in one’s mind even with a supportive and loving husband, even with loving and kind counselors, even with gentle and compassionate Priests … and even with our ever‑merciful and loving Lord who is with me always and for everything.

By way of background…

I lost (or gave away) my virginity at age 15 to my high school sweetheart – who was about as clueless as I was about what sex truly was about. Although – to his credit – he seemed to be more ahead of the game than most of his peers. We felt our relationship to be special of course and we weren’t like our peers who were just jumping into bed for the heck of it. We tried a few times and failed or otherwise chickened out of “doing it.” Being 15 does not lend itself to having a lot of freedom since neither of us drove – but we did visit each other a lot and our parents left us alone enough – and let’s face it – two hormone filled teenagers are going to find a way no matter what. I’ll spare you the gory details of it all – but the thing that is most important about this is that fact that I was so willing to give away my virginity to a 15 year old boy, not aware of my worth, not ever being told that I should wait, not ever thinking or being told of the consequences. Yes, I knew pregnancy was a risk – but not to me! And to put into perspective the skewed mind of two 15 year olds about what sex is…bless his heart my boyfriend did try to make it special, satin sheets and all on his parents bed one afternoon when I rode my bike to his house because he was home alone. In his pubescent 15 year old male mind, he figured that some candle light and – oh, let’s pop in a VHS tape that I found in my Dad’s porn stash to “get us in the mood.” In a matter of an hour I was now thrust into a whole new arena – we watched that tape with wide eyes. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. That’s what I’m supposed to do? Okay, got it.

I mention the above, because against the backdrop of receiving zero sex education from my parents and the only information I had was garnered from Seventeen Magazine and my girlfriends who were also testing the waters, my first foray into what sex was a pornographic videotape! No wonder I’m so screwed up.

Anyway, we didn’t chicken out that afternoon and although I have my regrets for ever doing it in the first place I have to admit that it wasn’t as horrible as most people’s tales of their “first time.” I did feel loved (albeit in an adolescent way). My boyfriend was kind and caring (at the time). We felt like we were adults now. And the biggest thing I noticed after was that I now had a power that I didn’t have before. Sex is an awesome weapon when used properly and completely out of context from the way God intended. Especially when you are a teenage girl and your audience is completely governed by hormones.

Fast forward a few months … and I had been using my new found talent to get attention, “love,” admiration, dates, etc. So much so that I dumped my boyfriend for greener pastures because if I could make him “love” and adore me – who else could I get to do the same? I basically had no parental supervision and had gotten my driver’s license and a car at age 16 because I was involved in a lot of activities so my parents didn’t want to drive me everywhere. Talk about freedom – the wrong kind of course – but freedom nonetheless. As long as I was bringing home straight A’s on the report card – my parents pretty much left me to my own devices.

My boyfriend and I broke up and got back together a lot over the next year or so and each time we did, there were plenty of boys willing to take his place. I somewhat realized it, but didn’t care, that these boys weren’t interested in taking me to the movies or on an official date – they knew what they wanted and so did I. And even when I didn’t want it, some took it anyway.

In the summer before my senior year of high school, I stopped getting my period. My periods were always awful and horrible with days of painful cramps, etc. So I was quite relieved that it wasn’t happening anymore. I’m not sure when it actually hit me that I could be pregnant, but I ignored it.

One morning, in the basement, sorting laundry with my Mom – she asked me point blank – to get any underwear I was hiding in my room to be washed. I hid underwear from when I had my period because it was not a pleasant thing and my Mom simply did not understand that I couldn’t help that my periods were so heavy that most feminine hygiene products were not sufficient. So, I told her I didn’t have any. She asked how long since the last time I had any. I said, “I don’t know.” She looked right at me and said, “If you are pregnant, you are out of this house you know.”

I think we both knew at the point that I was.

I can’t remember the exact words following that but I know there was a lot of screaming and yelling and I do remember specifically saying that she never cared what I did. That afternoon she was pouring over the phone book and gave me a few numbers to call. I went into my room – alone - and called the first one. Women’s Health Services of Pittsburgh. Yes, they performed abortions. It’s $300. Yes, they can see me this Saturday. Wear something easy to get on and off like a skirt. No, no one has to come with me.

I remember my mom saying, well “good, that gives me a few days to find $300” and “Don’t tell your father.” Saturday came and off I went early that morning. My Dad was at the kitchen table with coffee - my behavior was nothing out of the ordinary to him. My mom came in my room and gave me $300 in $50.00 bills and told me to not lose it. She told me where to park and walk to the clinic. And off I went. She didn’t offer to come with me – she would have to explain to my Dad where we were going.

I parked on the North Shore close to Three Rivers Stadium. It was cheaper than parking in town. I walked across the 6^th Street Bridge clutching my purse and checking the pocket of my skirt from time to time where the money was. My mom said not to put the money in my purse because it could get snatched.

I walked up to the Fulton Building. I don’t remember there being any protestors outside at all and Pittsburgh is basically a Monday – Friday kind of town so it was pretty quiet. I gave my name at the window and sat down. I wasn’t used to being in the City really except for the Arts Festival and the Regatta and other big events. They took me back to give me a pregnancy test. About 10 minutes later, it was confirmed that I was indeed pregnant. And “just in time” too – because it seems like I’m about 12 weeks along and one week more and I wouldn’t be able to have an abortion at all or I’d have to pay extra.

Looking back I wonder why my mom didn’t get me a test to take at home just to be sure before sending me downtown? I’ll never know I guess. There was no wait time after the confirmation of your pregnancy to the procedure – except for a quick stop in a “counselor’s" office. I do remember her. She was blond and cute and most likely just out of college and trying to save the world. We talked for a few minutes, she asked about my boyfriend, and then it hit me like a hammer, I wasn’t sure if my boyfriend was the father at all. I hadn’t even thought about him in the few days that this all happened. I had no intention of telling him because my Mom told me there was no reason to tell anyone. But, thinking about it, it could have been him or it might have been another boy. I’ll never really know the answer to that question either.

I remember her asking if I wanted to talk about adoption, etc. I said no. Next was the procedure room. I had never been to a gynecologist before or had any kind of pelvic examination of any kind so I didn’t know what to expect. There was a nurse and the counselor who stayed with me. The nurse explained the procedure to me and I saw the stirrups for the first time. The room was bright and cold. I didn’t change into a gown of any kind – now I know why they said to wear a skirt. There wasn’t much to do before the procedure because at that time there was no anesthesia given at all.

After I was “prepped” the doctor arrived. He never looked at me. He never told me his name. He never talked to me – he talked to the nurse. The counselor talked to me. If you are a woman, you know how horrible a speculum can be even when you know it’s coming – but when you don’t it’s a torture device. Then a clamp on my cervix. I really didn’t even know what a cervix was. The tears start to fall; the counselor held my hand and told me it’s going to be alright. I stare at the ceiling. The doctor is poking and prodding. I feel the cannula. The machine is turned on. It sounds like a vacuum cleaner. On and off. On and off. Checking. Back on. Checking. Back on. More tears, but I don’t make a sound. I don’t talk. The doctor says, “Almost done, I’ve got mostly everything.” The machine shuts off the final time. I remember hearing the gurgling sound of wherever my child is now being deposited. At that time, it’s not a child to me; it’s just tissue because that’s what the counselor told me. It’s not a baby yet, it’s too early.

I know now what a 12 week old baby looks like.

The doctor leaves the room, the counselor helps me to sit up and fix my skirt and I’m walked to the recovery area. A room full of reclining chairs, about 10 or so. Some girls are crying, one is filing her nails. One is getting scolded by her mother in some other language. I am the only one who is alone in my chair, curled up, feeling the cramping starting. I’m given something to drink and a cookie or two. I’m given some birth control pills and some other pamphlets that don’t fit in my purse so I keep the pills and toss the papers on my way out the door. I walk back across the bridge, in pain, with a bulky pad between my legs. I remember where I parked my car. I get in, start the car, and blast the air conditioning and drive home.

I get home, my Dad is now on the deck outside. I say hi and go to my room and lie down. My mom comes in, pulls down my blinds and before she closes the door she asks if I need some Tylenol. I nod yes. Before she goes to get it she says, “We will never speak of this again.” She brings me some Tylenol. I sleep for what seems like a day or so. The next day, I’m off on a day trip to Ohio with my boyfriend who I’m back together with. The day trip gets cut short because of my cramping and bleeding that I’m trying to manage. My boyfriend thinks it’s my period so no questions there. I let him drive my car back home and I go back to bed.

My life is changed forever. I have killed a baby, my baby. I take that fact and all the feeling s with it and stuff it down as far as I can. The feelings lie in the darkness of my soul for years.

That’s the story of my abortion as I remember it. I remember it every day.

For my two girls...

2011-06-29T09:08:00.000-04:00

I saw this online the other day:

A girl's heart should be so close to the Lord's that a man would have to seek after Him to find her.

When I wonder about and question (again and again) how I got to where I am now, a lot of the time the answer is in the faces of my two innocent little girls who know nothing of my journey, but I hope someday I'll be able to tell them about it. If anything, so they can learn from my mistakes, from my life. I hope that I'm learning from my mom's mistakes. If I can do the above and instill in both of them a love of Jesus, a healthy self esteem, some solid truths that they can cling to - then I think our chances are pretty good. They are fortunate too that they have an awesome Dad in all ways who is always mindful that he is raising two women and not just girls as they are now. He knows that every action of his will shape every relationship they have with boys and men later and eventually a husband if that is God's will for them. I can only hope that they get as lucky as I did in the husband department!

This week I'm supposed to be writing a letter to the father of Grace - boy it's still hard to type her name.

The problem with this particular task is it causes me to overlap my two lives - my past and my present. By acknowledging this person, I feel as though I'm slighting my husband in some way, which I know isn't the case and is just my poor self esteem at the healm of my thoughts. Writing a letter that will never be sent is still going backwards in my mind to a time when sex was not a pleasant thing for me, it was a means to an end sometimes, it was a way to fill a void, get attention, steal boyfriends, and a host of other horrible reasons to have sex with someone. And at times, it was not exactly consensual although I won't allow myself to be labled a "victim." I was utterly clueless.

Hopefully throughout the day today I'll be able to jot some things down to him. I never told the father that I was pregnant, I don't think I was planning on telling anyone until my Mom figured it out and confronted me which was pretty horrible and probably in a matter of an hour completely ripped any semblence of self esteem right out of me.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I did tell him... would Grace be here with me today? Would have, could have, should have...

I thirst for you...

2011-06-27T21:14:00.000-04:00

And for when I'm really at a low point...

I Thirst for You

"Behold, I stand at the door and knock… (Rev. 3, 20)

It is true. I stand at the door of your heart, day and night. Even when you are not listening, even when you doubt it could be Me, I am there. I await even the smallest sign of your response, even the least whispered invitation that will allow Me to enter.

And I want you to know that whenever you invite Me, I do come – always, without fail. Silent and unseen I come, but with infinite power and love, and bringing the many gifts of My Spirit. I come with My mercy, with My desire to forgive and heal you, and with a love for you beyond your comprehension – a love every bit as great as the love I have received from the Father ("As much as the Father has loved me, I have loved you…" (Jn. 15:10) I come - longing to console you and give you strength, to lift you up and bind all your wounds. I bring you My light, to dispel your darkness and all your doubts. I come with My power, that I might carry you and all your burdens; with My grace, to touch your heart and transform your life; and My peace I give to still your soul.

I know you through and through. I know everything about you. The very hairs of your head I have numbered. Nothing in your life is unimportant to Me. I have followed you through the years, and I have always loved you – even in your wanderings. I know every one of your problems. I know your needs and your worries. And yes, I know all your sins. But I tell you again that I love you – not for what you have or haven’t done – I love you for you, for the beauty and dignity My Father gave you by creating you in His own image. It is a dignity you have often forgotten, a beauty you have tarnished by sin. But I love you as you are, and I have shed My Blood to win you back. If you only ask Me with faith, My grace will touch all that needs changing in your life, and I will give you the strength to free yourself from sin and all its destructive power.

I know what is in your heart – I know your loneliness and all your hurts – the rejections, the judgments, the humiliations, I carried it all before you. And I carried it all for you, so you might share My strength and victory. I know especially your need for love – how you are thirsting to be loved and cherished. But how often have you thirsted in vain, by seeking that love selfishly, striving to fill the emptiness inside you with passing pleasures – with the even greater emptiness of sin. Do you thirst for love? "Come to Me all you who thirst…" (Jn. 7: 37). I will satisfy you and fill you. Do you thirst to be cherished? I cherish you more than you can imagine – to the point of dying on a cross for you.

I Thirst for You. Yes, that is the only way to even begin to describe My love for you. I THIRST FOR YOU. I thirst to love you and to be loved by you – that is how precious you are to Me. I THIRST FOR YOU. Come to Me, and I will fill your heart and heal your wounds. I will make you a new creation, and give you peace, even in all your trials I THIRST FOR YOU.

You must never doubt My mercy, My acceptance of you, My desire to forgive, My longing to bless you and live My life in you. I THIRST FOR YOU. If you feel unimportant in the eyes of the world, that matters not at all. For Me, there is no one any more important in the entire world than you. I THIRST FOR YOU. Open to Me, come to Me, thirst for Me, give me your life – and I will prove to you how important you are to My Heart.

Don’t you realize that My Father already has a perfect plan to transform your life, beginning from this moment? Trust in Me. Ask Me every day to enter and take charge of your life. – and I will. I promise you before My Father in heaven that I will work miracles in your life. Why would I do this? Because I THIRST FOR YOU. All I ask of you is that you entrust yourself to Me completely. I will do all the rest.

Even now I behold the place My Father has prepared for you in My Kingdom. Remember that you are a pilgrim in this life, on a journey home. Sin can never satisfy you, or bring the peace you seek. All that you have sought outside of Me has only left you more empty, so do not cling to the things of this life. Above all, do not run from Me when you fall. Come to Me without delay. When you give Me your sins, you gave Me the joy of being your Savior. There is nothing I cannot forgive and heal; so come now, and unburden your soul.

No matter how far you may wander, no matter how often you forget Me, no matter how many crosses you may bear in this life; there is one thing I want you to always remember, one thing that will never change. I THIRST FOR YOU – just as you are. You don’t need to change to believe in My love, for it will be your belief in My love that will change you. You forget Me, and yet I am seeking you every moment of the day – standing at the door of your heart and knocking. Do you find this hard to believe? Then look at the cross, look at My Heart that was pierced for you. Have you not understood My cross? Then listen again to the words I spoke there – for they tell you clearly why I endured all this for you: "I THIRST…"(Jn 19: 28). Yes, I thirst for you – as the rest of the psalm – verse I was praying says of Me: "I looked for love, and I found none…" (Ps. 69: 20). All your life I have been looking for your love – I have never stopped seeking to love you and be loved by you. You have tried many other things in your search for happiness; why not try opening your heart to Me, right now, more than you ever have before.

Whenever you do open the door of your heart, whenever you come close enough, you will hear Me say to you again and again, not in mere human words but in spirit. "No matter what you have done, I love you for your own sake Come to Me with your misery and your sins, with your troubles and needs, and with all your longing to be loved. I stand at the door of your heart and knock. Open to Me, for I THIRST FOR YOU…"

"Jesus is God, therefore His love, His Thirst, is infinite. He the creator of the universe,
asked for the love of His creatures.
He thirst for our love… These words:
‘I Thirst’ –
Do they echo in our souls?”

Mother Teresa

Imprimatur
Mons. G. Sergio De la Cerda Z.
Vicar General
Tijuana, B. C. México.

Trust in God's Mercy...what's the alternative?

2011-06-27T18:52:00.000-04:00

I've watched the above clip from The Passion of the Christ more than 100 times. Sometimes I watch it to remind me of God's Mercy. Sometimes I watch it because there are days when I feel just like the woman in the video - not because I had committed adultery...worse,I had an abortion.

When I started this blog a week or so ago - I was feeling pretty good and was hopeful about all the people I could help with my story. Then after a few days, the shadows return and I find myself having to chase them away again. That's the thing with abortion - it's always there, it will always be there. There is not a day that goes by that I don't think about it. Even before I started talking about it or uttered a word about it to anyone - it was on my mind and in my heart. Sure, I stuffed it down pretty deep but it was there. It was there, underlying my bad choices. It was there feeding the destruction of my self esteem. It was there every time I allowed myself to be used for sex when in my heart I knew there was more for me, that I was meant for better. I just didn't know how to get there for a long, long time.

Then, one day, my life changed in an instant. The day that I met my husband. So in my joy after that day and all the happiness that followed and continues to today - I was able to stuff the feelings down deeper. But, they remained, however dormant and festering beneath the surface. The voices that told me I'm not good enough for my husband. He's going to leave me. I'm nothing. My children don't even like me.

I wish I could journal a "day in the life of a postabortive woman" for you. The smallest of things can bring it all to the surface. A sound, a voice, the news, a church, a baby. At least now I'm finding my way to channel all of it toward the greater good - I hope - for myself and for whomever else I may reach with my story.

For a long, long time, I was this woman, crawling in the dust and dirt, feeling the judgement from others reigning down upon me, feeling the threat of a trip straight to hell when I died, never ever worthy to even look up at Jesus - who would never condemn, whose mercy is bigger than anything I've done. And there are days even now when I'm back down in the dust and dirt - but I force myself to look up, say a prayer, call for help even if it's the silence of my own mind. Even now I call out with a twinge of despair that I won't be answered but I have to believe that He's there when I do look up.

An Introduction

2011-06-20T21:02:00.000-04:00

So, I've created this blog to chronicle my healing from an abortion I had when I was 17. When I first began this healing journey - I took a lot of time figuring out and trying to remember even the remotest of details surrounding the events. The actual procedure - well, that I remember in vivid detail from sounds and smells to pain and tears and silence. At that time, there was no "medical abortion" or "surgical abortion." There was no anesthesia. I remember what I wore down to criticizing myself for wearing open sandals into the "big city." What a dumb move - my feet were getting so dirty! Did I even think what I was about to do to the rest of my body?

What I had a hard time remembering after years of burying this day in my life - were the details about time and dates and even years. With some investigating and and pictures I had dated from that time - I realized that I was a year off in my recollection altogether. I had only told one person about my abortion outside of my parents. My mom knew that very day, my dad found out a few years later. But, I did tell my husband within a few weeks of our dating. Why him? Well - I knew from the moment I met him that I was going to marry him. I knew that my life was going to make a dramatic change and he had to know because it wasn't fair for him not to know. But I do remember telling him then that I was 16 at the time of my abortion - but it turns out I was 17 and it was the summer before my senior year in high school. The year I was to fulfill all of the dreams and aspirations my parents had for me up to that point.

I hope to expand on my story in time with this blog - but for now, I'd like to tell you about my first child. I've typed this line about 10 times now and deleted back and started over - it's that difficult - even now.

My first child's name is Grace Anne. She was likely conceived in June of 1987 and would have been born sometime in March of 1988 - had I not aborted her on August 22, 1987. She would be 23 years old this year and when I picture her in my mind now (and I have pictured her for the last 23 years in moments of grace) - I think of her as being 23 years old and with our Lord in Heaven. I'm not sure what she looks like or what I think she looks like for a few reasons I hope to discuss later on. When I was pregnant with my other children - the name Grace was on the short list of baby names, but something always nudged me away from the name. I know now why.

So, on this journey so far, I'd like you to know Grace who is now glorified with our Lord in Heaven and who I like to think of as interceding on my behalf and on the behalf of her sisters.

Just in case you have no idea what it is like to be a post-abortive woman - just typing the above has filled my mind with thoughts from teenage sex that was not even remotely close to what sex is supposed to be about, to the sounds that filled the room the day Grace left my body, to my feeling her with me on retreat with Rachel's Vineyard.

Just for the record, the last 15 minutes or so of turmoil in my mind, heart and spirit while writing this - that's not "health care" and it's not "good for women", any woman.

What is hope?

2011-06-20T13:31:00.000-04:00

What is hope?

The Temptation to Despair...

2011-06-19T11:52:00.000-04:00

Mother Angelica On The Temptation To Despair

Any temptation to despair is not of God, and you need to remember that the enemy wants you to despair. Know your enemy. He's not handing you roses, he's handing you hell. So be careful of any kind of despair. Those temptations come directly from the liar, the enemy who was a liar from the beginning. He cannot give truth. He cannot give beauty. He can't give you anything that is good. He wants to take that good away from you. The only thing he can do to a human being is to encourage him to despair -- what a waste of time it is to listen to a liar. Listen to the Lord, pray for the grace to overcome the temptation, and keep moving.

- Mother Angelica

A beautiful expansion on Blessed PJP II's message to postabortive women...

2011-06-18T22:30:00.000-04:00

This is a beautiful expansion on Blessed Pope John Paul II's message to women who have had an abortion. This has been and remains my "go-to" piece when the temptation to despair wins yet another victory over me. In Our Lord's good grace, however, it doesn't last as long as it once did.

USCCB - PJP II's Message to Women

An Imaginary Confession: The aborted Child and redemptive Love

2011-06-17T12:14:00.000-04:00

An Imaginary Confession: The aborted Child and redemptive Love

A fantastic article. I have thought or spoken just about every word in this imaginary confession. The first priest I confessed my abortion to did not absolve me. It was not a good experience. I have carried the feelings from it around for years. The Church teaching then and now is so vastly different and now I understand why that priest said what he did to me, but the scars remain. Every priest and seminarian should have this at the ready.

Blessed PJP II speaks to women who have had an abortion...

2011-06-16T12:54:00.000-04:00

Evangelium Vitae (The Gospel of Life):

"I would like to say a special word to women who have had an abortion. The Church is aware of the many factors which may have influenced your decision, and she does not doubt that in many cases it was a painful and even shattering decision. The wound in your heart may not yet have healed. Certainly what happened was and remains terribly wrong. But do not give in to discouragement and do not lose hope. Try rather to understand what happened and face it honestly."

"If you have not already done so, give yourselves over with humility and trust to repentance. The Father of mercies is ready to give you his forgiveness and his peace in the Sacrament of Reconciliation. You will come to understand that nothing is definitely lost and you will also be able to ask forgiveness from your child, who is now living in the Lord."

"With the friendly and expert help and advice of other people, and as a result of your own painful experience, you can be among the most eloquent defenders of everyone's right to life. Through your commitment to life, whether by accepting the birth of other children or by welcoming and caring for those most in need of someone to be close to them, you will become promoters of a new way of looking at human life."

-- Pope John Paul II

The above is an excerpt from the Encyclical letter of Pope John Paul II, Evangelium Vitae (The Gospel of Life) 1995, #99