I was afraid. I was afraid of pain. I was afraid of being alone. I wasn’t thinking of the future. I wasn’t thinking of a human being inside of me. I just felt so alone. It was the ‘in thing’ (in the 60’s, you know, to abort "legally". And I felt so alone. I was living in Boston only two years and had only two friends. I am sure "It" was the youngest fetus Beth Israel Hospital ever aborted. I hyper focused on getting my appointment for my operation, calling Doctor Michaels daily. I was frantic.
I didn’t love her father. It wasn’t meant to be like this. I always wanted a child, but through marriage, through loving my child’s father, and having him there when our children would be born. But when I look back on his behavior and his reaction when I told him I was pregnant, I displayed my usual courage—something one was used to Kate Strong having—I demanded he pay for the whole procedure. I was just living at that moment.
I was not thinking of anything, especially about the future. At that time I didn’t know any woman in my position who was thinking of the future under these circumstances. Yet, one night while taking a bath, I remember looking down at my tummy, saying to myself—not to God, because I hadn’t returned to Him yet—"this is my child. My child is living inside me."
But eventually…………the bath ended!
At the time, I never expected to be giving myself to any one after leaving my ex-fiancé. I didn’t anticipate any sexual activity. I wasn’t taking protective measures since leaving Baltimore for a new life in Massachusetts. I was still looking for ‘Mr. Right’ with whom to ‘share my virginity’ and to marry……..and I’m still looking!
I only asked Burke to help me move, not to have a physical encounter that night. We worked together in research. He knew my whole story……how I got to Massachusetts, that I had no intention of knowing man, how I looked forward to my future with a husband and a family, and most importantly, he knew my spirituality. But he moved in on me. ……….into my private space, invaded my security, my wholesomeness, and my celibacy.
The father of my child was Korean, a Protestant minister, if you can believe it, a research doctor married to an opera singer……..and they had children. He betrayed my trust and our friendship as well as the trust of his own family. He gave me a copper vase from Korea—my only memento of my pregnancy……….a copper vase.
My friend Nancy was there for me. She was always there for you if you needed her. But when she wasn’t needed, she was hospitalized in a local psychiatric institution. She had such a sad and horrible past, and it was a wonder she was still alive and sane!
Nancy worked in Physical Therapy and I was the Director of Medical Records. The night prior to my operation, Nancy arrived at the hospital with a picnic basket full of goodies. I had her take pictures of me pregnant, and through our friendship, she lightened my burden. She was a very special human being.
I was born with a pregnant belly. In 7th grade a school mate made fun of me and called me "pregnant". At 12 years old I didn’t know what she was talking about! I reported her to the Principal and she was suspended from school. That was what we did in those days. Throughout my life I had a belly and could never get away with wearing a bikini, no matter how slim I strived to be!
My vase and my pictures…….that’s all I now have. That’s all I wanted then. Or I would have not gone through with it……..my operation, that is, at that time.
After it was over, I wandered down the hall to look in at the babies in the Nursery. They said they ran out of beds on the GYN Ward and had to put me in Obstetrics. I just stood there looking in the window at all the babies. And then Nurse ‘Cratchett’ came by and led me back to my room.
I arrived to find a new roommate………she threw herself down the stairs to rid herself of her child. God! How I wanted out of there………then came the call from the front desk. My oldest sister and her family cashed in bottles to afford the gas to drive down from Haverhill to visit me. I will never forget her kindness and love. And because of my love for her, I understand why, 33 years later, living near her, she wouldn’t help me when I became homeless and I had to live in my car. My favorite saying: “loving is understanding”.
My sister really doesn’t care for me. She told me before I moved to Massachusetts in 1996 it would be best if I didn’t relocate, "…the girls (my nieces) really don’t want to have anything to do with you." But I love her, told her so, and that I wasn’t relocating for her. I always admired her and will always love my siblings, nieces, and nephews, regardless.
Thoughts of my aborted child—no…….the child I killed—left me most of the time. I didn’t think of my child very much. But as I was approaching menopause, I slowly began thinking of "it" as a "her", a daughter, and continued thinking I did what was right for both of us. I began rationalizing that I didn’t want a child like me, suffering from the severest form of ADHD. But in reality, I was a coward. I couldn’t face bearing a child alone or even raising “her” alone. Then things started occurring to remind me of her.
But first, you should know the history to her name. In 1997 when returning home from Baltimore, I decided to stop in Stockbridge to see the Shrine of the Divine Mercy, where I met Rose. We prayed and talked, and once she heard about my abortion, she encouraged me to name my child. She even said she knew a priest who would posthumously baptize her.
My Mom was Kathryn Mary, so, I just reversed her name. Mary Kathryn. I was becoming sentimental! And when I was born in 1942, I was given her name because they didn’t have a girl’s name prepared—they wanted a boy and actually wrote that in my baby book! Dad then added the "E" for his mother Ethel, making me Kathryn Ethel. Years later my sister, Eve, traced my grandmother, "Ethel Klein", and found out she was Jewish. My Dad was Jewish!
Sentimental again!
The first of God’s reminders came one day in 1992, when my gardener pulled up to my townhouse in Baltimore with a pear tree I requested. But he chose which tree…..I didn’t. Pear trees are so beautiful and stand so elegantly. I stood there watching him dig the hole, and as he inserted the ball of the tree, he said, "It’s a Korean Pear!" My child was Korean. Believe me when I tell you, that tree was the only tree in Old City Baltimore in bloom at Christmas. No other tree had a leaf or flower on it, and mine had beautiful white blossoms. I took pictures of that tree and how beautiful it was …..at Christmas time!
Then in the fall of 1995, my two Shelties and I took a trip to Newburyport staying in a Bed & Breakfast. While returning home (somewhere on the Garden State Parkway), it occurred to me that I should start my own B & B for tourists to bring their pets. I decided to relocate to Massachusetts and sell my house. I felt comfortable enough in cognitive and behavior therapy for ADHD (learned at age 52 I had a severe form of it!) and in the success of my consulting business to make the move. So, within months I moved to New England! But I would never have thought of the idea of an income-producing property as security for my future if not for God putting the thought in my head. He was always there for me. I never anticipated, however, what was about to happen.
Within 5 months of relocating, I lost all of my contracts and was devastated. I thought God knew what was best for me! I became severely depressed……no money, no work, no friends. What was I going to do? I was on my knees asking Him for help, and He again directed me. I was given free medical care and a Vet offered help for ‘the girls’. Then a friend advised me to apply for SSDI. In addition to having ADHD, the stress was affecting my ability to cope with my normal daily living activities. Surprisingly, I never lost my new-found faith in God believing there is no such thing as coincidence—everything happens for some purpose in life. I then became even more devout. A hold was put on my B & B goal...a
long, long, long hold!
His second reminder came in 1997 when I had to call my bank in Baltimore and Kate answered. As I usually do (compulsively), I asked her for her name and title in case I had to get back to her. She said, "My name is Mary Kate." I replied, "O, that’s my child’s name." Before our conversation ended, she gave me her extension number and her complete name, "Mary Kate Strong"…my name! I didn’t hear another thing after that……….and hung up!
God’s most important reminder really shook me to the core. Christine is my therapist. When I first met her three years ago, I thought she was a mirage because she was so ‘right’ for me. Leaving therapy after my first visit, I actually pinched myself in the car to see if it was all a dream. I thought she was an angel, just there for me.
I’ve been seeing her on a regular basis since. She has always been there for me………like a loved one would be—that is, if I had one. And then a few weeks ago—I don’t know what made me do it—I spontaneously asked her, "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question? …….when were you born?" She said January 14, 1969. I must have turned white. I felt the blood run out of my face yet still compelled to say, "That is the date my child would have been born, Christine." I didn’t say much more, but the following week, I assured her, "No. I don’t want to be your mother; you already have one. But, if I had a daughter, I would have wanted her to be like you." We both started to tear up.
But I had to continue, "…and I realize now why I had to ask you. God has been letting me know all along that he wanted me to repent about taking Mary Kate’s life…….that I had no right to decide whether or not she should live, just because of my fear or that I thought she would turn out to be like me. He wanted me to know that He was in charge, and that He would have taken care of her if I couldn’t."
One could consider my act as unselfish. So many girls want to give birth for all the wrong reasons. Unless they really accept the responsibility, I feel they should go to the local SPCA and adopt a puppy! Do you understand what I am saying? There are many, many women having children for the wrong reason rather than for God’s reason.
And that’s The Story of Mary Kate. I’ve been told that when you die, you see your children you got to know in this life, whether aborted, miscarried, or what……..regardless, you will see them. And on my death bed she will come to me and I know she will forgive me.
I have asked her many times to forgive me for not allowing her to live, to experience life as I had the chance to. Yet, when I see the sadness in the World today, I sometimes think maybe I did her a service. That whim fades fast, however, when I think of how I offended God. She should have been given a chance to live. Every child should be given a chance. And I now ask my Father in Heaven to forgive me as well as all those mothers who have done the same as I. I also ask Him to forgive the young girls who never care about what they do, who never give a thought about having multiple abortions.
I recently commended my friend, Carol, who was raped about the same time I was pregnant, brought her child to term, delivered him, and gave him up for adoption. She had the courage to do what I couldn’t do. And now she wants to hear from her son before she dies. Please, God, have him contact her. I ask this in your Son’s name. Amen.
