I like to ponder things.
Why did Bailey throw up three times last night and then wake up totally fine this morning?
Why does Sophie wake up from her nap the minute I decide to finally go take a shower?
Why does Hubs always, always leave the knob turned to shower instead of faucet?
And my best pondering takes place in the shower. It is pretty much the only time I have complete privacy (except for little hands banging on the door for more juice or to show me something that just can't wait) and a good time to collect my thoughts.
This morning, in between shampoo and conditioner I pondered this post. It has been weighing heavy on my mind since I wrote it, but I just couldn't figure out why. Was it because I didn't try to talk her out of it? Was it because I feel that in some way I helped to kill that little baby? Was it because I am a mother myself now and see things differently than my college self did so many years ago?
I have shared the story with very few people and I thought that it was out of respect for my friend's privacy. I felt that it wasn't my story to tell. But I told it and in a place where anybody could read it. My husband doesn't even know the story and I told it here. Why?
I had debated whether to even tell the story in the first place and had set my mind on a totally different subject entirely. Then, when I sat down to type out it came. It needed to be told. It needed to be dealt with.
I remember being pregnant with Sophie and there was some bleeding. I remember praying to God, promising I would do anything if he would just help me keep this baby alive. Then there were problems with blood pressure and the words of the doctor etched forever on my heart and soul, "If we can't bring your blood pressure down, we will have to abort."
The words caused me to choke. My body went cold. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
That evening, in the shower, I feel to my knees and prayed for that tiny life inside of me. The warm water mixed with my own salty tears and I gave it over to God's Will. I kept repeating, "That which does not kill you, makes you stronger."
Now, when I look at my kids, I know that because of them my heart and my world has changed. Because of them, I know the value of life and the value of being the best mother you can.
Would I help a friend end an unwanted pregnancy again? I am not so sure. I still believe in a woman's right to choose, but becoming a mother has made me cherish, respect and value life more than ever before. I am not that same college kid. I am a mother, a wife and that changes everything.
6 comments:
Once I believed in the right to choose, but the first time I heard Timothy's heartbeat, that belief went out the window. Choosing means a life and that I can not handle. Choosing should mean taking precautions before, but once the life has started, there is no choice. God's will....everything for a reason, but we also have free will to make mistakes and wrong choices. Your friend will live with that, some people can. I had a friend who did the same thing in college, at the time, I thought it was her choice, now, I know she did something that I could never do. I can not judge others for their decisions, but I know that I could never take the life of a child...they are too precious.
Beautifully said. I agree with the last sentence one hundred percent!! Thank you!
I've been in the same position and it's so hard! Thank you for sharing! Amy
Blogs. We want to tell our stories. Sometimes it is so we can share our joy, other times it is to help ease the pain.
I have changed so much since becoming a mother. Decisions I made back then pre-child would be totally different if it were to happen today.
No regrets. It is my motto.
The shower is so the best place for thinking!!
sometimes we find that blogs are good for working things out in our own minds and hearts...I wondered how you felt about things now...glad you posted this!
(((hugs)))
This is a beautifully written post, as is the original post that you linked within it.
There are no easy answers in a situation like this.
Thank you for sharing.
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