I had an abortion because I was far from home. I'm from western Canada and the guy who got me pregnant was from Texas. We were in South Korea teaching English. Although I was quietly excited when I first found out I was pregnant, the doctor's first question when he confirmed my pregnancy was, “Do you wish to go to term?” He smiled. I said no, feeling beaten about it, and went home to my apartment which I shared with other young foreigners from Canada and the United States. My roommate had had an abortion in British Columbia, Canada. She was really my closest thing to family in Korea at that time. She made it seem easy, like it was no big deal. The father of the child was not exactly a boyfriend. I had slept with him on Christmas-eve 2000. It could have been so beautiful. Instead, this nerdy-looking Texan was a whiz at writing, and wrote the most tragic stuff. I actually laughed out loud that he could be more tragic about this than me.
I went to the appointment a week later with my roommate in a taxi on a Sunday. I had swindled the entire amount of money from the guy who used me for sex, made a child with me, and then helped convince me to kill our own child. My guts wrench when I think of it.
During the abortion experience, I cried on the table. I was in a bright room, lying on a table/hospital bed, and I began to cry. The nurses were so kind, so soft spoken, and they said, over and over, “Don't cry.” They kind of sung it. And I got brave and stopped protesting, but I seem to remember kind of crying, maybe without noise, the whole time. Then I don't remember anything. I woke up in a room filled on one side with narrow beds and full of women slowly, quietly and with groans, waking up from their abortion procedures.
Immediately after the abortion, I cramped up and bled a lot. My one roommate asked a lot about it, seemingly out of curiosity, and it gave me an opportunity to begin to speak about it. I think I contacted my church soon after in April or May. It could have been years later too, I'm not really sure. But I did reach out to my local Catholic parish, the church I grew up in. I was shaken, and I spoke to someone who gave me good advice and put material in my hands to read. The recommendation was that I should name my baby, write her a letter, and kind of start to stop crying about it—start to get over it. At times the grief of the child I chose to let die in my womb incapacitates me. I have gone through times when I can actually not stop crying. In times like that I have either had to go for help, help has arrived for me, or I have wallowed for a while. I believe it is a consequence that I carry this sadness—not a debilitating sadness, but a real one.
I have found help and forgiveness through the sacrament of confession, which is open to everyone. I happened to travel to Medjugorie, a mountaintop where there is a cross relic embedded in it. This had an impact on me. I felt forgiveness, divine love, and mercy on me. Having three children, smiling at kids, loving kids, and realizing the silence of one in three young people absent has an effect on me.
I am a completely new person than when I had the abortion. I have improved in that I am no longer without hope. I live a busy life where bad and tragic things still happen. But now I can easily hammer down my point of view. I'm not anymore likely to contradict myself, drink too much too often, or sleep around. I believe in God today and that belief has an effect on my life. I do my best to take moments directed to God and the saints throughout each day. I harness my actions and words more than I probably used to, and it has the positive effects of a calmer, less unpredictable lifestyle.
God bless everyone suffering from this tragedy which is so blatant and horrific, so normal. God, give us the grace to look at this reality of mothers conspiring to have their children vanquished. Help us to hear the agony of this grief, lest it be silenced. Amen.