My Grandmother's Secret

My grandmother and I shared a very special relationship. Her name was Esther and she was born in 1904. She was my father’s mother who bore three sons between 1927 and 1941. When I was born in 1952, I was the first girl to come along in the family for 30+ years. I remember her among some of my very first memories. She sewed dresses for me and liked to take me out to lunch during the years when eating out was more of a social event than it is today. When I told my grandmother that I was going to marry my college sweetheart, she told me she wanted to buy my wedding gown for me. Through the years, we grew closer sharing stories, chatting about the day’s events or talking about matters of faith.

Esther had been very active in her church and was the supervisor of the children’s Sunday school for many years. One of my last memories of my grandmother was a joyous one. When grandma turned 92, her friends decided to throw a party in her honor for all her hard work and devotion over the many years. My father, mother, and my eldest son and other family members were in attendance. People told stories about my grandmother that warmed our hearts and made us smile. Someone read aloud several of the poems that Esther had composed. At one point, the big group stood in a circle holding hands as we sang praise hymns to guitar accompaniment. I was filled with admiration and love for this wonderful woman... and still am today.

But woven amongst the stories of her happy childhood, stunning college days, romantic letters between her husband (my grandfather) and her during WWII, and her beloved poetry, was a story that she held secret for almost 70 - yes - seventy - years. Towards the end of my grandmother’s life, I had the blessing of being able to attend a bible study with her at her retirement community on Saturday mornings. After our study, we usually would go out to eat for lunch (of course!) and then come back to her room to talk some more. It was during these small conversations that she would recount delightful stories about her mother and father and a very special auntie.

One afternoon, her stories centered on her early married life during the Depression in the 1930’s, an era she seldom talked about. It was a difficult time for everyone. The Crash of 1929 had wiped out the family wealth as it did for many families. For Esther, it meant sharing a small 2-bedroom house with her husband, two young sons, three in-laws (mother, father, and sister) and their three little, excitable dogs. All at once, my grandfather, only in his mid-twenties, found himself to be the sole provider for his extended family during a time when our country offered few jobs. To say that money was tight was an understatement. At some point in the 1930’s, my grandmother became pregnant. She and my grandfather decided to terminate the pregnancy and they found someone to perform the illegal abortion. It was a frightening and tremendously painful experience for her.

When she finished her story, her head lowered, she said in a whisper, "I still wonder if God will forgive me."

My grandmother kept her secret for almost seventy years. Seventy years. Grandma passed away four years ago, and it’s been some years now since she told me her secret. Today as I write this, I realize I am struck by the fact that she was still mourning the loss of her baby girl. She was far enough along to know she had aborted her little daughter.

My reason for sharing my grandmother’s secret is in the hopes of reaching you if you are considering an abortion. On behalf of my grandmother, I ask you to think twice about your decision. You should know that a decision to abort will carve an empty hole in your heart and psyche that will never go away. Think about it. Could you live with that for seventy years?