the worst thing about abortion is the silence.

I never heard my newborn cry when he was first born, but I heard him breathing again, after he stopped, and I started sobbing.  With joy.  and pain.  This is what I had stopped.  This is what I longed for so long to hear.

I stopped my two aborted children from ever breathing.  I stopped their hearts. Perhaps I set free their souls from an unliveable life that would have played out, in another place and time, differently.  Perhaps, in another place and time I would have had miscarriages or lives births that expired.  In today’s society, they would have been kept alive, medical monsters and a burden I couldn’t have survived.  And for what cause?  Medical experimentation, a gross use.  But I never heard them.  I never heard them breathe, I never heard their plaintive voices.  This is ttue horror for me.  I DO heard their souls speaking to me everywhere and everyday.  I’m not sure, but I think I always will.  The sound is getting softer now as I finally turn the page and move on.  I guess I sound a lot like a lot of other Project Rachel women.  Grief, rediscovering joy, a pain that has healed over but leaves a large lumpy scar; but a a covering over with a sweetness that has been gone for such a long time returns–post-abortive women often sound so ugly and I have met them in the wounded stage and didn’t like them and I guess that’s why people have stayed away from me and disliked me for so long.  This post is aborting…

My Project Rachel counselor would be happy if she could hear me.  I doubted forever and a day that I would every come to this point of healing.


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