It’s that time of the year again for me. December haunts me each year. Honestly, there’s not many days throughout the year that I don’t think about it, but December is definitely the worst. It’s hard for me to get into the Christmas spirit. I’m a Christian, and I do love the celebration of our Savior’s birthday. I’m so thankful for His love, mercy, grace, and forgiveness. But because of my past, December hurts. I don’t want pity, I don’t want anyone reading this to think I want you to feel bad for me. I share, because I know so many who have gone through the same thing I have. I know some are at peace with their decision, and I also know many who struggle with it as I do. I don’t blame anyone anymore. This is the first year I can honestly say that I have finally forgiven myself after 34 years. But I still very much regret it and wish I had been stronger and asked my family and friends for help.
I had an abortion as a teen. I was pressured into it. I needed to be stronger, but I wasn’t. I needed to run, but I didn’t. I needed to confide in my parents. They would have helped me, but I was too scared. Instead, I caved. Because I was underage, I would have had to have my parents’ permission to have an abortion in Massachusetts, so I was brought to Portsmouth, NH. The doctors name was Dr Luck, and the clinic I went to was honestly very great, if I had been strong enough. They had me go in alone and talk to a nurse. She asked me if I was sure, and if I wasn’t sure she could arrange somewhere that I could go and that the person who brought me wouldn’t know. But I was a coward, I thought I could handle it… little did I know.
The procedure was pretty quick. I remember the lights, the smells, and the sounds. When it was done the doctor said he would be right back. I asked the nurse where he was going. The answer killed me inside. He went to make sure that all the pieces were out of me. In my mind, he’s counting two arms, two legs, a body…and that’s when I realized that I had killed my baby. There was no one else responsible...it was on me.
Two weeks later, on Christmas Eve, I started bleeding badly and passing clots. I thought I was dying. It was my first time not being home for Christmas Eve and I believe my last. I was so scared. I didn’t want to go to the hospital, because I was so ashamed and didn’t want to tell anyone, even doctors, what I had done.
I hid it from everyone for about 15 years. And then I had a breakdown. I couldn’t hide it anymore. That baby mattered. And because of my choice it wasn’t here. I wondered, was it a boy or a girl? I found a wonderful place called National Memorial for the Unborn in Chattanooga, Tennessee. I had a plaque put up there and have been there several times since then. Being there, seeing all those names, and knowing that those babies are so loved and missed by their moms and some dads show me I’m not alone. It also shows me how much God loves and forgives me. Even though I’m a complete mess most of the time, He loves me.
I have eight amazing living children. There should be nine. I’m thankful that my Lil one is waiting for me, and that someday I’ll be there, too.
If anyone needs to talk about their decision, I’m here. I know how hard it is to forgive yourself. I know the shame you may feel, the pain you are going through. It’s so hard, I still cry at times. But there’s forgiveness and love.
If you think this will help anyone, feel free to share. My hope is to help others know that they aren’t alone, that they are loved, and that there is forgiveness. And that’s why I’m silent no more.