What it was like...

My Dearest Emily,

As I laid my head down last night after writing you that last letter, I realized that there was more to write.

It has been 23 years but I remember that time almost like it was yesterday.  There are some details that are blurring a bit but I would like to share with you what it was like as I remember it.

I was so lost at the time, Emily.  At 21 years old, I was like this train wreck waiting to happen.  I got off track when I was 14 and spent the better part of seven years speeding and careening towards total destruction.  I had no direction, no boundaries, no concern for others, no regard for God, and though it may have seemed to others as if I only cared about myself I didn't even do that very well.

You see, my teenage years were very difficult.  Our family was a mess and I was smack dab in the middle of it.  I had surrounded myself with friends who were on the same path to destruction as I was.  God was knocking on the door to my heart, inviting me over and over again to turn towards Him, even putting people in my path who would have helped me, and I turned away from Him every time and ran in the opposite direction.  I had said no to God and all of the good opportunities in my life so many times that by the time I was a young adult, there were none left that were apparent to me.

I made decisions based on what seemed right to me at the time.  Every choice was a reaction to the emotion or feeling I had at that moment.  I was constantly searching for the next good thing and I didn't even know what good was.  Whether it was a party, a new guy, a day in the sun when I should have been working, a new sports car, or a drink, it was all about what I felt I needed and so I let myself by driven by my 'needs.'  As it turns out, they weren't needs at all  They were wants.  And, actually, they weren't even wants because it was all just what I thought I wanted but it wasn't at all what my heart was searching for.  That's a whole other letter.

Your father was one of these needs for me.  I had this strange attraction to him and even after he had ended our relationship I sought him out.  I don't know what took me to him that night.  After all, he was involved with someone else and there was so much pain involved in that relationship that I shouldn't have even wanted to see him again.  Nevertheless, I found myself there.  It was that night that you came into the picture.  I know it sounds odd but I knew you were there the next morning.

I spent the next couple of weeks waiting and wondering if my feeling was right.  When I missed my period, I went to Planned Parenthood in Omaha to have a pregnancy test done.  I was nervous and alone.  It was positive.  I remember feeling this sense of panic.  What in the world was I going to do?  How could I take care of a baby?  How was I going to tell my parents?  How was this going to change my life?  I don't remember much of what they said to me at the clinic or what advice they gave me.  I know they said I had a few different options that included abortion.

I had lunch with a good friend the next day and told her that I had decided I would keep you.  I had this feeling of excitement at the thought of having someone to really love and someone who loved me back.  All of these years, that was what I was looking for.  Someone to love me without condition.  Fully and wholly mine.  My heart was full with the prospect of holding you and caring for you.  My friend was a bit unsure but even she was getting excited as we talked about all things baby.  I think that day I felt a little bit of hope for the future.  It might have been unrealistic in my financial situation and in my emotional state but being a person led by emotions, it felt right.

It took me a bit to get up the courage to tell my parents about you.  At the point I told them I had already decided to keep you.  I was set in my mind and in my heart.  When I told them, their reaction was calm.  We began to talk about what should happen next.  They were against my having you for many reasons which seemed reasonable at the time.  I was devastated and, after two days (or what seemed like two days) of discussing all of the reasons why it was not a good idea to have you, I was left feeling helpless and hopeless.  There were so many reasons given that I was overwhelmed by them.  My dad presented me with questions about how I would manage financially.  I was working two jobs at the time to make ends meet and one of them was in a bar.  Obviously, I wouldn't be able to care for you if I was working two jobs.  What kind of mother could I be if I was never home?  What would I do about childcare?  My mom had already raised three children and, understandably, was not ready to raise another.  How would I be able to afford for someone else to care for you while I was at work when I was having trouble paying the bills without you?  My mother raised questions about your health.  Your father was bipolar.  She got out her medical books and read that you had a 50% chance of being the same.  There were questions, rightfully so, about what kind of mother I would be given my lifestyle at the time.  I certainly was very irresponsible in so many areas of my life.  What kind of life would that be for you?  At the end of our discussions, I felt completely spent and defeated.  I had very little hope left that I could or should actually bring you into my world.

For a moment, I considered adoption.  Oh, Emily, how very selfish I was!  My heart ached at the thought of giving you to someone else.  What a twisted mind and heart I must have had at the time to decide it would be better to kill you than to share you with someone else.  Above all other feelings I remember having during this time, this might be the most painful for me now.  Who was I to rob you of your life?  A life ordained by God for a purpose?  What a horrible way to consider life.  Your life was not for me.  Your life was created by God for God.  If only I had understood who He was.  I was my own god.  I thought I created your life by my actions.  I thought it was up to me to decide what would happen to your life.  I was so very wrong.

My last hope, as I left my parents' home, was your father.  I thought that if he would help me then I could still have you.  I called him and told him.  The first words out of his mouth were, "Get rid of it!"  I cannot tell you how I felt at that moment.  I had not one shred of hope left in me, not one little piece of confidence that I could go through with my pregnancy.  I had never felt so alone and without options.  I had no choice (or so I felt.)

And so, I found a clinic in the phone book and made the appointment.  My mother agreed to pay half the cost and your father came to my door with the other half, threw the money at me, turned and left.  I never saw him again.  I was heartbroken.  All I had ever wanted was to be loved.  I had given myself away so many times to get it.  I had sacrificed my education for it.  And, as contradictory as it might seem, I had even denied God for it.  Now, it seemed I carried love within me in the form of a baby and I could see no way that I could have it.  I felt as though my very heart was being ripped from me.

I remember going to my first appointment at the clinic.  I went by myself and there was an exam.  I don't really remember how I was treated.  I do remember the doctor telling me he thought I was about seven weeks and that it would be a simple procedure.  He said you were just a small blob of tissue at that point and that there shouldn't be any complications.  He sent me in to talk to a counselor and she explained how things would go when I returned on Saturday.  As I think about how little information I had about what was to happen, I am so sad.  Emily, I had no idea you had fingers and toes beginning to grow.  I didn't know you had a beating heart, and a mouth and a nose and a brain.  I believed what they told me and I didn't ask questions.  Had I known, I would like to think I would have made a different decision but there is no way to know for sure.

My mother took me to the clinic on Saturday.  The appointment was for the morning and I was instructed to pull into the parking lot, park and then wait for the security guard to come to my car to get me.  We did as we were told.  He offered me headphones and, at the time, I wasn't sure why.  As I walked around the building to the front door I could see why.  Across the street there was a group of church people and, although it was a blur, I could see that there were many people outside yelling and holding up signs with pictures on them.  I couldn't see what was on the signs and I couldn't hear what they were saying.  It all happened so quickly and they were too far away.  As I think back about this whole experience, that was the only brush with God I had that I recognized.  To me, they seemed like a mob angry at me for doing the only thing I thought I could do at the time.  I thought I had no choice.  I felt condemned by them and was angry with the Church for a very long time.  Who were they to stand in judgment of me?  It was my life, my baby, my body, right?  It's not like any of them were going to help me take care of you or pay my bills.  I was so hurt and confused and so thankful for the 'protection' of the guard leading the way.  Oh, how the enemy can twist and skew things, can't he?

I checked into the clinic and was led to a big locker room full of girls.  I would say there were maybe 15 of us and we were all instructed to change into gowns and put our belongings in a locker and then wait to be called.  This time is such a blur in my memory.  I don't remember talking to anyone or anyone talking to me.  I don't remember any faces in the room, only bodies.  I don't remember changing or putting my things away or where and how I waited.  I don't remember being called back but I do remember laying on the table.  I remember being cold.  I remember a loud machine.  I don't remember getting dressed or leaving the clinic.  I don't remember my mother's face or her words to me. I don't remember feeling or thinking anything.  For someone who lived driven by emotions for so many years, I don't remember having any emotional reaction at all.  Maybe my mom would remember it differently but we have only spoken of it once in all of these years and it was so brief that it seemed as though it was something not to be discussed.  It's a hard place for me, Emily, because I have heard so many stories of women with such vivid memories of the actual procedure.  On one hand, I wish I could remember more and at the same time I am thankful I don't.  I'm not sure how I feel about that.  I sense sometimes that it is God's protection of me that keeps me from remembering and yet somehow I feel like I deserve to remember and relive every detail and it makes me feel guilty for not remembering.

My mother took me back to her house and put me to bed.  My family was going out to celebrate my brother's birthday that night and I wasn't up to it.  She told me to sleep.  I remember laying there for a while and possibly even sleeping a bit.  But I was restless.  My go-to comfort in those days was alcohol and I went to the only place I knew I would find comfort.  I got in my car and drove to the dance bar I worked at.  I sat in the back by myself and drank.  I don't remember going home that night but I also don't remember any hard feelings about what I had done.  I suppose I did what I had done for the past seven years.  I drank them away.

Life went on.  From that March until May, it was almost life as usual for me.  I continued to work two jobs, partying, scraping by.  Even though my actions hadn't changed, something about me had.  I was restless.  I felt like I needed to get away, escape.  I was ready to leave town when I met a guy.  I had no intentions of sticking around for him or anyone else.  I had had enough.

But God.  All of a sudden, here was this man who was there every time I turned around.  He was polite and caring, kind and thoughtful.  We were both a mess but we were in it together.  I don't know if God placed him in my life or if it was another desperate choice on my part but I do know that God took us out of the muck and the mire we had buried ourselves in, cleaned us up and redeemed our lives for His Glory.

It would be another 12 years or so before I would think deeply about what I had done to you, Emily.  Oh, there were plenty of times along the way that I thought of you.  When a friend of mine who had had an abortion lost her 10 month old baby.  Whenever someone would talk about abortion and how they couldn't imagine what it would take to make that choice.  When my husband and I were trying to get pregnant and it didn't happen right away - had I wasted my chance for a child?  Whenever it would come up in Bible Study or Sunday School.  Whenever I would see people standing with signs outside an abortion clinic.  Whenever I saw a billboard sign advertising or presenting an alternative to abortion.  When I longed for a little girl and had two boys - had the baby I killed been a girl and I had ruined my chances?  Whenever the doctor or nurse asked how many pregnancies I have had.  Whenever I met someone who has lost a child or could not get pregnant.  Whenever there would be a news article or show about it.  There it was.  Always just under the surface of who I was with roots running very deep.  (And I doubt that I will ever not have some kind of emotional response to all of these things as long as I live.)

I remember, so clearly, coming before God every day for a week begging him to forgive me for what I had done.  And I remember one morning as I was weeping and begging there was this voice so clear in my head.  He said, "What in the world are you talking about?"  It was at that moment that I realized in my heart what I knew in my head.  He forgives and forgets.  He had forgiven me! He had moved on and I was the one stuck.  It was this watershed moment for me, realizing that His grace covered even the worst of sins, even the murder of one of His precious children.  I cannot wrap my head around how He does it but I believe He does and I know, firsthand, the freedom it brings.  I am eternally grateful that my God keeps no record of wrongs.  He is patient with me and loves me extravagantly.  He gives me hope that, one day, you and I will be reunited.  Oh, I cannot wait for that precious day!

I love you.

Mom