Recently, I read a post by another blogger on her experience with multiple miscarriages while surrounded by pro-lifers (friends, co-workers, ect). After reading her post which you can find here, I was inspired to write about my story. I have only spoken of my experience with my unborn child to my family and my husband's family and my closest friends. Please read my whole story and be kind in your judgment of me.
“He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” John 8:7
Thanksgiving day of 2008, I was in the passenger seat of my car while my boyfriend was driving. We were following my mom and her wife to a family member's house for Thanksgiving lunch. While at a stop light, we were hit from behind by a boy home from college. He was driving 55 miles per hour and looked down at his radio to change the station. He didn't realize that the light was red and when he looked back up it he was too close to us. He slammed on the brakes, but his car still careened into mine and mostly ended up crushed underneath as it threw my car forward into oncoming traffic. At the time, we considered ourselves lucky because my mom had put the propane tanks in my trunk but moved them at the last minute to my sister's feet in her car.
I was going to be 18 in a few short weeks. My body went into shock and they took me to the hospital. At the hospital, I was taken to the pediatric section of the ER. I told them I was due for my period the next day. They didn't check for a pregnancy. They did x-rays on my back and neck. I didn't think anything of it. We left for the beach that night.
A week later, I came back from the beach with my family and returned to my college campus. I was supposed to go for x-rays on my foot (from another incident on campus) but the doctor made me take a pregnancy test because I had still not started my period. I thought it was just the stress from the accident. She sent me upstairs and told me to wait for the results before I got the x-rays. She called upstairs and I was asked to return back downstairs to talk to her. I was pregnant.
I spent the next week crying and praying and talking. My boyfriend told me it was my decision, but he wanted to keep the baby. His mother was Catholic, so in her eyes abortion was not an option. My mother told me she would stand by me no matter what. I thought about everyone in my life. I thought about what might happen if I kept the baby and my boyfriend and I split up. I thought about what would happen if I decided to give the baby up for adoption, then realized that if I kept the pregnancy I would never be able to give the baby up. I thought about all of those x-rays I had done at the hospital and how far along I was and the damage they may have caused on my little peanut.
I went to the doctor exactly one week before my 18th birthday. I was 5 weeks pregnant. Since I am rh-, they gave me a shot for that and then gave me another shot which killed the little peanut. They sent me home with some pain killers and told me that I would "miscarry" by next week. I lost the baby on my birthday. I cried and grieved for the life I took. I cried with my mom. I cried with my boyfriend. I cried with his mom.
I broke up with my boyfriend less than a month later. I made excuses, all of them true. The whole truth is, I was just not comfortable being with him. I felt like I had betrayed him. And I moved on.
For the next six months, I hardly spoke to my dad when I was at his house. On the fourth of July, my aunt and her family came to visit on their way to Maryland. My older cousin (by 2 years) was pregnant with her first son. His due date was eerily similar to what mine would have been. They were in town for a week and were staying at my dad's house. So was I. I made every effort to be out of the house and away from them as much as possible. I picked up extra shifts at work and on July 4th, I went out with my new boyfriend to his hometown, 2 hours away, to watch fireworks. When I returned, I confided in my aunt. I told her why I had been avoiding her daughter. I told her that I loved them so much, but I was not ready to deal with this pain. My dad still didn't know. I told her that, too.
A week after they left, I went back to see my dad and have lunch with him at a fast food place. I did not want to taint his home with the memory of the conversation I wanted to have. While we were sitting at the table talking, I told him that I had given away my virginity and that I had gotten pregnant and had an abortion. I cried. He held my hand. He told me that he already knew. My aunt betrayed my confidence. She told her mom. Grandma told Dad. I cried more. I told him I was so sorry. I apologized for not telling him sooner. I bawled my eyes out. (I hate crying in front of others, so this was a big deal for me.)
My dad comforted me and told me that he loved me. He showed me God's love. I grew up with Jesus in my life. Church was never forced upon me, but was somewhere I chose to be. I have always loved God, but everyone strays from Jesus at least once. I was afraid that Jesus would never love me again, but my daddy showed me that Jesus will always love me no matter what. And at that moment, he was my daddy and I was his baby girl again. I sometimes wish that I could go back to being a little girl, but then I look at my boys Ray and Reece and I don't want to give them up.
I still have not completely forgiven myself for the abortion. I grew up wanting a baby girl and have often wondered if God is punishing me for the abortion by not granting my prayer. Times like this, God sends me someone to tell me that He loves me. He sends someone to listen to my fears. He sends someone to push those fears aside and remind me that I have a baby in Heaven with God. She was able to grow up with God as her Father. I will see my baby again and I will recognize her immediately.
I think my baby was a girl. There is no way to know for sure, but her earthly father now has two daughters, so it is highly likely. Besides, sometimes a mother just knows. I still pray that one day God will send me a daughter to raise. I will tell her and my boys the story of their unborn sister. I will tell them of the pain I experienced, emotionally and spiritually.
I have not ever had a miscarriage, but I have seen several of my friends miscarry or deliver a stillborn. I even have a friend who was pregnant with twins, miscarried one of the twins and then later delivered the other stillborn. It is so hard to watch these people I care about go through so much pain. I cry alone in my room thinking about all the misery they have to endure and how people tell them "it'll be okay," because no it won't be okay. One day their heart will heal, but it will never be whole again. I will never be whole again. And that? That is okay.
Thank you for taking the time to read my post.
No comments:
Post a Comment