Sunlight shone upon the clean vinyl floor in the kitchen the day it happened. It was the day my mother said, "I don't know how you got to be here... I was on the Pill when I conceived you." At the age of three or four, I had no idea what the pill was, but I came away from that discussion with two things that followed me for decades: I was unwanted, and I was nothing but a huge cosmic accident.
Years passed. I was unpopular at school, not really accepted at home, and listened to The Beatles nonstop, even though it was the 1980's. One day, I found our school engaged in a pen pal program. I signed up to write to two people from England. I got the name of a girl in London, and a boy in Liverpool. Liverpool! The home of my beloved Beatles! I prayed a prayer of thanks, and wrote faithfully to my two pen pals. I was 14 years old.
I never dated during my high school years. One reason was because I wasn't allowed. Another reason is because my Liverpudlian pen pal became my best friend. He was the first person -- besides a lover of my father -- who actually told me I was beautiful. I poured my heart out to him in letters. Some letters were ten pages long on legal paper, front and back. I sent him jokes, and poems I wrote, as well. He encouraged me, told me I was funny, said he was jealous of anyone who might ask me out.
Finally on the day of Live Aid, we were allowed to call each other. I would hear his wonderful voice. We excitedly talked about the bands playing. We were only allowed to talk ten minutes from my end, and ten minutes from his. Right before we hung up, he said, "I love you -- and your big nose!" He said the last sentence because I always complained about my nose. All I know is, he said he loved me!
We began making plans to see each other. We called each other for our birthdays and Christmas. But something was wrong. He met someone at college. She was there. In his grasp. Not a faraway dream. I was devastated. I started to date a bunch of different people. We barely wrote to each other. Then, when I was 21, I broke up with yet another someone who wasn't my Liverpudlian.
I had his number memorized, so I called it. To my surprise, his mother answered! He was home from college, and we laughed as we chatted. It was like wearing a warm sweater. We both stated it was unrealistic to pursue a relationship, so we encouraged each other in our dating endeavors. I was living with a guy who could be verbally abusive when he said he was flying over to visit me.
I was so nervous! When he arrived at the airport, we embraced, and then he kissed me. We stood there, locked in that embrace. I truly did not want to let him go. I could have kissed him forever. My boyfriend at the time sensed the energy when I got home with him, I guess, because he threatened to kill us. I told him I was leaving. I left the next day with my Liverpudlian. My brother had an open apartment, so I moved in there.
I was 23. We made plans in earnest for me to move over to England. We determined I would arrive there, apply for a job, have the work visa sent to friends in France so I could live there before we got married. Down the street from where we lived was a bridal shoppe, where I fell in love with a blush pink wedding dress. I made some contacts, and things were looking good.
Then I started feeling very sick. I had no idea what was wrong. Then my period was later than usual. I was constantly going to the bathroom. His sister jokingly said I should take a pregnancy test. We did. Two lines. I was scared, but he was estactic! He actually yelled, "I'm a daddy! I'm going to be a dad! We went to the fish and chippy directly after (not a good idea, because the smell of oil made me ill), where he said to the owner, "I'm going to be a dad!" Then he said loudly into my stomach, "Your daddy loves you, baby!"
I found out in early December. We went to the doctor. He gave us a pamphlet showing baby development, and we were on our way, so happy together -- or so I thought.
We told his mum. Her response was unreadable. Later, she called him and told him she needed to talk to him... alone. Hours later, he came back, a serious look on his face. He said after talking to his mum, he felt it best if we aborted the baby, get married, and then have other children in the future. My worked dropped out from under me. Where was the man in the fish and chippy, ecstatic about being a daddy?
We fought hard. I refused. I took off and hid in a marshy area in Merseyside. They found me, and he told me if I ran away again, he would have me committed, "and they'll take the baby, anyway." I begged him to just let me carry it, and we could put it up for adoption. No. No. No. No to everything I asked him to do instead of an abortion. I had no family to help me. Actually, when I asked my mother if there was a way I could come back, she said, "I knew it! I knew it wouldn't last! I don't have it... find your own way home."
He was a policeman, so I couldn't go to the police. I had no friends of my own there. I felt trapped, with no way out. He went with me to the appointment with the abortionist group. He let me know we would not leave unless I'd sign the papers and say I wasn't coerced. He went in by himself to retrieve a signed paper from the GP. I was sure he wouldn't have gotten that signed paper if I didn't go in. I was wrong.
We lived in Maghull, and traveled to Liverpool for the abortion. We drove along Penny Lane -- the place I wanted to see so badly for longer than I knew the father of my baby. I figured I had one more chance to save our baby. They took me back like a lamb to slaughter -- only it was my little one that would be sacrificed on December 19th, 1990. The "kind" thing they did was put you in a sleeping state so you didn't hear any suction. Before they put me under I grabbed the nurse and said, "Please! Don't let them do this! I don't want to kill my baby!" The nurse said, "Too late for that, innit?" And my baby was gone.
I awakened in a ward where other girls did the same as I. It was a cacophony of groans and sobs. The guttural moan that emitted from my mouth mirrored the torment in my soul. I did it. I committed the unpardonable sin against God, Himself.
I wanted to die. I deserved death. Not my baby. Why didn't I die on that table? Death flooded every part of my brain. I took long baths... baths that began scalding hot and would turn ice cold by the time he got back from work. I stayed in the tub for hours, trying to wash away the stain of what I'd done.
His mum asked me if I wanted to go to a Christmas service with her. I wanted nothing to do with her. I also was angry at God, asking Him why He didn't rescue that baby when I begged Him to do so? I was angry at everybody and everything. He knew I loved cats, so he took me to an adoption center. That was the only living creature I clung onto.
He and I started fighting. Then he told me I'd "changed." He was unsure if he wanted to be with me, anymore. I literally gave up everything for him... and this was how he would treat me? We were at a New Year's Eve party the day he said I'd changed. I walked out of the party and decided I would end my life. I stood on the edge of a bridge, and when I was about to jump, I spied a piece of paper floating downstream. It was as if all of Heaven screamed at me, " You are NOT a piece of GARBAGE!" I think I encountered my guardian angel that night as I climbed down from the span.
He announced to me he no longer wanted to be in my life. His mum bought my ticket back to America. I flew back home January 19th, 1991. I engaged in self-destructive behavior, including the rebound relationship in which I engaged. We got married October 19th, 1991. I was surprised when I got pregnant right away. It was an abusive relationship, and I remember yelling to the sky, "I accept my punishment, Lord!" While thanking God for my little boy, I gave my heart to Jesus. It did not improve my relationship with my then-husband. I left him October 31st, 1992, hoping we'd get help. It never happened. We eventually got divorced. Five years later, after dedicating my life to my God and my child, I met the man who is still my husband.
I told no one about my abortion. However, with every Sanctity of Life Sunday, I felt the condemnation of my actions. I'd sob in the bathroom, begging God to forgive me, please, even though I didn't deserve it.
Then, we had our last child in 2005. He and I almost died. It was decided I would have a tubal ligation before I gave birth to him, as I was approaching 40. And every pregnancy following the abortion came with different issues. After the tubal, I fell into a huge depression. How could I dare tell God what I would do with my body... again?
I thought of creative ways to help the local pregnancy care center. One day as we talked, one of the ladies asked me a question: "Did you have an abortion?" I started crying.
But that's when I started to get help. First, I took part in the Bible study, "Forgiven and Set Free." Then, a few years later, I took part in "Rachel's Vineyard." Until then, I didn't believe I had a right to see my baby in Heaven, and I certainly didn't think I had a right to name the child. At the ending ceremony, I named our baby Catherine Grace.
Since then, I've answered phones for the pregnancy care center, organized some 40 Days for Life campaigns in my town, engaged in sidewalk counseling, organized a concert of prayer for the unborn, and organized a sidewalk prayer vigil in front of the local Planned Parenthood. I've talked to women contemplating abortion and have comforted those who have experienced the pain of abortion. I have been on news programs giving the pro-life view from the position of a person who had an abortion and regrets it. And I am Silent no more.