A little piece of my heart
A little piece of my heart is wounded each time we are unable to help a woman turn from her plan to abort the tiny human life within her womb.
As an ultrasound technician for the past 30 years, I’ve had the honor of witnessing the work of the Lord, in the womb. “I knit you together in your Mother’s womb” Psalm 139:13. I have seen and documented the development of tiny humans as they progress through different stages of their lives. “You were made in My image” Genesis 1:27 “You are fearfully and wonderfully made” Psalms 139:14. “Even the very hairs on your head are numbered” Matthew 10:29-31. I’ve watched them jump and stretch, stick their tongues out, yawn, suck their thumbs, show me they’re a boy or girl. I have listened to and recorded their heart rates and measured their bones and waist sizes. I have been privileged to watch their growth through the various stages of development and share that view with their parents and the Creator. I can’t help but be attached to them, because I know them; I’ve seen and heard them. I’ve watched them play.
Many post abortion women have commented that a piece of their heart died with their aborted child, just like any parent that loses a child. It doesn’t matter at what stage of development, what matters is that those who have lost a child have a deep grief. Grief that is made worse when it is a secret, when there is no support for the grieving, no memorial, and no family gathering. It’s as if the child never existed. The survivors of the abortion try to go on with their lives as if the child did not exist. For many women and men this is a festering wound that must be kept secret, the pain denied until they are desperate enough to seek healing.
I find myself in a similar, secret (hidden) grieving place. I am certainly moved by both the joy and sorrow of the outcome following the ultrasound at the crisis pregnancy center where I volunteer. Joy is great. The parable of the good shepherd reminds us how our Father values each and every one of us (especially the lost ones). I had no idea of the depth of my own grief. These children touch my heart as I view them on the ultrasound screen. A little piece of my heart dies each time we are unable to help the mother see her way to giving birth.
I recently attended a post–abortion recovery weekend retreat (Rachael’s Vineyard). To my surprise the grief I had been carrying came forth in uncontrolled, sobbing tears. With the other participants I went through the grieving and recovery process. Representing the children who I grieve, I picked names for them and memorialized their brief life on earth. I received a certificate of life for Tanisha, Jawan, Bridget, Lawanda, Keesha, Brendan, Anton, Thomas, Joseph, and Andrew. I entrust these children to the creator of life, recognizing the dignity and gift of each and every one.
I join the voices of those that are Silent No More.
Peace,
Mike Stack BS,RT(R),RDMS,RDCS,RVT