I was 14 years old the first time I became pregnant. The father thought I was lying, that I was trying to keep him. One night I got really sick and had a high fever. My mother rushed me to the hospital and the doctor told my mother that I was pregnant. Very angry and disappointed, my mother took me home and made me aware that in the morning we would be going to an abortion clinic.
The following morning my mother dragged me to some clinic in Manhattan. I sat there in tears knowing that if I had an abortion I would truly loose all ties with my boyfriend. I don’t think I really considered the baby at the time.
When they finally called me in my mother came with me. They began doing a sonogram and when my mother saw the baby on the monitor she cried and took me home.
That night we got home and called the father, my mother got on the phone and told him I was pregnant. He, in turn, told his mother and she came to visit me. She had lost her daughter a couple months before to cancer and begged me to keep the baby. I decided to keep the baby but, at 5 months, I lost my precious baby girl: Janice Mari Colon.
I wish it would have ended there, but I became pregnant a second time when I was 16 years old. I was trying to get back what I lost. I found out the father had been cheating on me, so I broke up with him after telling him that I was pregnant. My mother told me that she wished that I could have the baby, but she was in no position to financially support us. Out of anger and despair I went to the clinic and just did what I thought I had to do with no father for the baby and no family support. I knew I couldn’t do it on my own… At least I thought I knew…
I recall going to the clinic and having the attitude that it was an everyday thing and that it is no big deal. There were so many girls there my age. I don’t recall having remorse or any second thoughts after murdering my son, Adam, Jr.
At the age of 17, I was going out with a guy that I thought would change my life because he calmed me down a bit. I got pregnant and he and his family were happy. Mine on the other hand were not happy at all. As rebellious as I was, I decided to stay with him and his family to have the baby. In an argument he beat me so badly that he killed our baby girl Miasia. To cover up what he had done he told his family I had an abortion. I finally came face to face with his mother and told her the truth.
A couple of month later, I was raped and became pregnant. I was angry and depressed. I told my best friend at the time that I had to get rid of it. I wouldn’t dare refer to this thing inside of me as a baby. Without a second thought, I returned to the abortion clinic, filled out the papers, and told them to rush it. I couldn’t dream of having this thing inside of me any longer. That day, I killed my baby Nelson. Named after the father that abandoned me as a child.
A few years later, I would meet my husband to be. We married in a Catholic church and took religion classes. Shortly after our marriage I began teaching classes and got pretty involved in church activities. I went on retreats and did general confessions about my abortions in the past. I felt that God had forgiven me and I was on my way. A year later, on our wedding anniversary we conceived my daughter, the most beautiful baby I had ever seen. But sadly, many things went wrong in my marriage and we split up before her second birthday. I was angry and felt as if I had lost a huge part of my life. I felt as if I had missed out on so much by wasting so much time on him.
I loved my daughter, but I left her with my mother for a short period of time. In that time, I was so self destructive. I began sleeping with men that I treated like objects. I didn’t care. My daughter never witnessed my behaviour because I knew what I was doing was wrong. I moved in with my mother thinking things would get better, but my behaviour did not change. I lost my job because I wouldn’t show up for work, and I began messing with a guy who had a long-time girlfriend. We were so sexually compatible and we were together on a regular basis. Protected or unprotected, it didn’t matter. I got pregnant again. I was torn with sadness, confusion, and faithlessness. I was lost to the world and without the support of my family and friends. I made the decision to go to a clinic to confirm my pregnancy and see how far along I was.
They sent me home because I was only 4 weeks along, too early to get an abortion.
That night I drove to the church I had not visited for a long time. When I got there I said to myself, “If it is open, I will not go through with it.” The doors were shut. I continued driving that night and pulled over on a street two blocks from my godparents’ house. I picked up my phone and said to myself, “If they pick up, I will not go through with it.” They did not answer. When I went home, my mother asked if I was pregnant. I told her not to worry about it because I was going to take care of it. She said, “Well, you better because you will not be staying here and having another baby. So go do what you have to do.”
A week later I was back at the clinic and my heart was crying. I filled out the papers and handed them to the receptionist who was at least 8 months pregnant.
About 20 minutes later I was called in to speak to a “counsellor” who told me the clinic was not responsible for anything that happened to me during or after the procedure. We also discussed contraception. Then I was taken for blood work and a sonogram. The baby was so small she could barely see it.
I was put in a room with 3 other women and asked to change and put my clothes in a bin. We sat there looking at each other with the same look on our faces. We started talking about how scared we were and how we really didn’t want to go through with the abortion, but had no choice. All of our situations were similar. We either already had children or were children ourselves.
They called one of us every 10 minutes like an assembly line in a factory. I was never asked if I was sure it was something I wanted to do. I was never given any other option. I was never asked how I was doing. I was never shown what a 5-week- old baby looked like.
Though I hated myself and continued to close myself in, I realized I had to continue living because I had to be there for my daughter. I began living again and loving more. I searched out for people who I knew would love me and understand me. One day I learned that a co-worker was doing a paper on the history of abortion. She was surprised when I told her that I was against abortion. While helping her with research, I came upon pictures of babies aborted at 7 weeks. I started reading in amazement, in disgust and despair. I felt this overwhelming jolt that I had to do something.
I went to my spiritual advisor and confessed to him what I had done. I told him that I knew that God had forgiven me, but I could not forgive myself if I didn’t break my silence and end the silent cries of my children in heaven. I don’t blame anyone but myself for my actions. I know that I can make a difference for every cry that goes unheard. I pray for my children, and for women who have gone through abortion. I don’t want any woman to go through what I did. I work on healing, but my heart still cries for my babies. I know that while I heal I can help others. I pray that everyone sees that Life is precious and should be appreciated; life is a gift and shouldn’t be discarded or dehumanized by medical terminology designed to ease the conscience. I ask you to pray for me and for the fight to preserve life.