WHO WILL HEAR?

My abortions as a young woman were decisions I will always regret. I did find comfort through Rachel’s Retreat, but the repercussions of these actions still haunt me today. I have two grown children, a son who cannot have kids and is a loving son, and a daughter, who has had one child.  However, I have not been allowed to see him, and she has not contacted me in three years. I married their dad when I was only 18, he was very abusive, angry, unforgiving, unmerciful, and it seems my daughter has turned out just like him. I know today at age 59 if I would have had, though other 4 kids, grandkids today, so looking back is extremely painful, because I really ruined my chances of having a loving family to be around me in my senior years. My daughter also aborted my first 3 grandchildren. The first one when she was 15. What was so devastating to me is that she couldn’t even go on a field trip without my permission, but she was allowed to abort my grandchild, and I had no say in it at all. I have seen the progression of abortion and it scares me to think just how far our society will go. In 1970 when I had my first abortion, you could not abort a child if you were over 8 weeks pregnant, but now you can abort a child up until the 9th month. I want to help. We have to stand up together and tell people the truth, because as long as society is kept in the dark, nothing will ever change. Here is a poem I wrote:

           WHO WILL HEAR?
An empty rocking chair sits in a guest room
without rocking
while silent babies scream to me and at my soul keep knocking
Who will hear the laughter of the babes unborn by choice?
Who will celebrate their birth, and be their silent voice?
   When their blood cry's out to us from graves of unnamed tombs
How will we, as woman, fill our empty wombs?
I can only imagine who, these children might have been
and little did I understand the anguish of this sin.

    How long will it take before we recognize our blame?
When will we kept silent ignite a sacred flame?
   Who will build the houses, these children might have made?  Who will play upon the beach where footsteps never laid?
  How will we explain to them our choices and our reasons, for ending all their Christmases and all their changing seasons?
   Tell me, who will honor the millions without rights? And stand before our maker to tell Him "we were right?
   When all those we martyred scream loudly at my door,
I'll make a solemn promise to
   Be silent no more.