The Sixth Street Bridge

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

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

For my two girls...

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...

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