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Healing the Shockwaves of Abortion


Do You Regret Your Abortion or Your Lost Fatherhood? By filling in the form below you can add your expression of regret to our list. All information remains confidential and is presented anonymously

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Port Angeles, WA
United States
Kathy Gonzales
Grace to Heal
"After the abortion, through years and years of denial, I dealt with addictions, bouts of depression and suicidal thoughts, and through bad and destructive relationships.   Somehow, though, through all the struggle, God showed up in my life. The Lord has given me the grace to heal."
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If you have somehow been wounded by abortion, God’s unfathomable love and mercy will bring you peace.  

I would like to meet someone who has never been hurt.  They live a perfect childhood.  They never suffer rejection, feel insecure, or unloved.   Most of us, though, end up being wounded in some way, whether physically, emotionally, or sexually.  We long for the suffering to stop.  We long for love. 

Sometimes we search in all the wrong places for love.  We might seek power and success to maintain control over our lives and other people.  Some of us may be so wounded that we remain fearful and timid and so we allow other people and addictions to control us.  And some of us become downright hardened and hostile, and our anger allows no room or compassion for anyone in our lives. 

All these wounds become destructive and manifest themselves in many ways if we do not seek out the love and grace found through Jesus Christ.   Without God in our lives, we end up not only hurting ourselves, but other people.  Sometimes we even resort to taking the lives of our unborn children.   
God loves us ALL.  He loves neglectful and abusive parents, the molester and the rapist, the abortionist and his assistants, the boyfriend and the husband, the woman and the child.  

I, Kathy Anita Gonzales, am Silent No More.  I share my testimony about my abortion for many reasons.  I want people to know that abortion takes the life of a precious child and that abortion causes enormous pain, suffering, and harm to so many people, particularly the parents of the child.  I long for people to heal from all the hurt introduced into their lives through abortion.  It’s time for us to unite with God through our prayer, our actions, and our talents, and put an end to this destructive industry.  

One of the ways I try to promote the Culture of Life is through writing. 

Billions of Light Years                            
Here in the secret of the womb—                        
a universe of its own,                             
a cell more minute than a fleck of dust                     
floats weightless                            
ready to travel billions of  light years from home                 
up a spiral staircase built from genes and chromosomes            
that explain the shape of nose, the color of eyes---                    
even gender begins here                            
before the heart beats twenty-one days later                
when arms and legs bud, and the mind prays in silence                
for forty days and forty nights on a desert island                
surrounded by salty, amniotic water    
where ears learn to hear---to comprehend                                                                                   
a mother’s heart throbbing music                                   
as hair sprouts and fingernails grow                    
to the size of raindrops,                        
and yet, eyelids still remain closed                    
while the light and heat of the sun                    
filters through our mother’s abdominal flesh---                
urges our tiny feet to dance and kick                
with one of a kind, exquisite lines                     
already imprinted on vulnerable soles.                                                
Death defines our date of birth
that falls somewhere between the cracks,
wedged between zero and an absent minded number
that cannot be added or subtracted,
divided or multiplied,
and without our total sum,
we can never make a difference
within this world’s narrow walls.            
We are the products of careless men and women
factored in the moment of their error.
The divisor reaped his dividend---
a quotient with only a sober remainder
of the missing children minus the posters
tacked to telephone poles
or on the sides of milk cartons.
Already forgotten before our memorial---
invisible sparrows with vacant numbers
tagged to our feet, we flew under the culture’s radar.
No one heard our silent cry,
or the flutter of our wings as we departed.
Only a few opened their eyes to witness
our ghostly flight into the winter night.

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