She Brings Joy : Constructive Grieving

Sometimes All We Can Give Someone is Our Presence

Sometime all we can give someone is our presence.

“Friendship is not to be sought, not to be dreamed, not to be desired; it is to be exercised (it is a virtue).” ~ Simone Weill.

I know this sounds nuts, but it seems to be that every year about this time a significant loss occurs in our family.

But it’s not nuts because this year has proven no different.

For the last twenty years our family has been close friends with a retired, local, bachelor doctor who never had children. For the last ten years we’ve taken care of our “doctor neighbor” — assuring he was tucked in at night, bringing him daily hot meals, etc. He’s been the only grandfather our younger children have ever known. Caring for him was a labor of love: he was family.

Our dear friend passed away last night, quietly slipping from this world to the next.

Over the last few weeks he had become less lucid as his disease came to its climax, but there were many small moments of clarity.

Yesterday when I visited him, his speech was unintelligible when I arrived. He was trying so hard to communicate his thoughts- I looked at him and said, “It’s ok Bill, I know you’re still in there”.

He winked at me.

Bill often winked at me when we were speaking. Most of the time it was because something he said had unsettled me, and he was trying to smooth over a rough patch in the conversation.

Yesterday we were going through a rough patch, as we both knew he was dying. His body was already showing the signs of shutting down, and his eyes were fixed on something I couldn’t see.

I sat with him yesterday, reading him poems from Sor Juana Inés De La Cruz, and selections from Simone Weill, knowing (because of that wink) whilst he was quiet, he was there.

At one point, when he was able to communicate with clarity, he reached his hand out and grabbed mine, looked me straight in the eye and said, “time is infinite, and there is just so much of it”. I must admit it was a bit of a startling pronouncement due to his demeanor, and the human mystic in me is probably lending too much meaning to this action. I’d like to think in those final hours he was already seeing the place he would go to, when his body stopped working here.

For the last few months, much of Bill’s conversation with me revolved around the nature of (the Judeo-Christian) God, and the lack of religion in his life: he would repeat that he’d been a greedy man, and had not helped people as much as he could. He would weep over this.

He asked me if God would still welcome him, knowing that he’d spurned Him for most of his life. He asked me the same about Christ, focusing on the plastic cross a priest had brought him earlier in his hospitalization.

I can’t know whether these conversations were the result of fear regarding his death, the slow depleting of oxygen to his brain as his body went through the process of dying, or a real reconversion.

I always treated them seriously, in hopes that they were genuine conversations. I know they were some of the only conversations he was having, and felt that if this was what he wanted to speak of during the short occasions he had for non-medical interaction, it must be of some importance.

Bill had no family, and the end of his life could have been so different: he would have been alone in his suffering if it hadn’t been for a small group of friends who wanted to assure he knew he was loved during his final days here.

This is just a reminder there are lonely people out there right now, dying in solitude- they may not be “worthy” of our affection and time, but once they’re gone, the opportunity to love them unconditionally is lost. Being there for someone isn’t about “us” or “them”, it’s about the symbiotic relationship humans need to develop in a society. Caring for someone in their bitter suffering transcends personal differences.

Bill and I disagreed on almost everything. In a heated discussion about abortion he once called Beatrix “defective”.

But loving people isn’t always about agreeing with them. Loving people isn’t even always about liking them. It’s about understanding everyone is made in the image of God, and in each human being there’s a longing for redemption. We fill the places left by the longing with television and sex and books and politics and mind-altering substances, but in the end, when we’re left without these stop-gaps, we must acknowledge the void. This is why deathbed conversions happen: not because people are deficient of reason, but because all of the other things we use to fill empty spaces are useless when you’re at death’s door.

Yesterday, when I was holding Bill’s hand, and unknowingly saying goodbye, he told me I would meet God (today). I conceded and told him I thought it was a very real possibility and when I told him I anticipated the meeting he was perturbed. He saw the prospect as a negative, I did not.

In the end I was given one last opportunity to share the “reason for my hope”.

When he again told me he was fearful of what was to come, I was able to hold his hand and remind him there was nothing to worry about. God doesn’t take account of how greedy we are in this life as long as we have faith in the Resurrection.

He fell to sleep shortly after this.

I am hopeful he didn’t awaken, and his last human interaction was having his fears comforted, and the last words spoken to him were of reconciliation.

May we all have such an end.

Friday, November 02, 2018
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Supporting Grieving Parents: Are You a Grief Worker or a Gospel Bringer?

Christianity

When it comes to supporting grieving parents, there's a fine line between helping them for their own benefit and using their mourning to magnify your own experience.

Some of us crawl down into the dirty places, where people's feet are always bare and the pools of tears are long and wide. We hide from view while we work and leave the dark places behind when we walk out into the world. We don't share our private messages and sometimes we're shocked when we count the short lives we've witnessed. Our reckoning is shocking because at the end of our work, we let them go, not out of callousness but because we recognize that those stories are not ours to tell, and those babies deserve to be mourned separately from ours.

Some of us walk into rooms where the grief is as big as a pine box. We reach out our hands, greedily, and say, "I'll take a bite of that!" Because we want to be part of that grief-- to claim it as our own. Because we want to shout about other people's sadness and own it for ourselves.

In this post-loss world, we all want to make our children's lives more meaningful, and inevitably, the space we occupy while doing this often belongs to others. We make connections over the internet and the stories all seem to blend together into one, long narrative of mourning.

Some of us call ourselves "grief workers" or talk about "supporting angel moms", but when people call themselves Christians and grief workers in the same breath they're altering the narrative, ever so slightly, in a negative way -- if they're Christians they can't be grief workers, because grief work flies in the face of rebirth: it flies in the face of the promises of the resurrection. It flies in the face of Christ crucified, who told us to leave the dead to bury the dead, and follow Him into life. These grief workers seek out sadness, promising to help parents work through their experience, but sometimes what they do is encourage them to remain in a state of perpetual mourning. Because they want to sell t-shirts and car stickers and keep people in captivity -- their captivity -- for as long as possible. In seeking out sadness, they move from family to family, helping those who've lost children to turn their babies into idols, effectively directing them away from what's real -- the conquering of death via the crucifixion.

{Now I want to be clear: I am not talking about doulas and other birth workers who support parents in their immediate time of need, but those who encourage an extensive mourning process or who promote the concept of never-ending grief.}

Why do I care? What business is it of mine?

Because when I first began this writing adventure it was just a place for me to record my thoughts about my daughter. It was private and sentimental.

Then, after a while I believed it could be something bigger. So I began to follow the pattern of others, writing about sunsets and over-using the word "momma" when addressing my tiny "audience". I tried to write what other people were writing and I believed I should be cautious about things like faith and abortion and all of what was happening to me -- all of what was the foundation of my grief experience -- because I may offend someone. This resulted in a lot of terrible writing and a lot of bottled up anger. I wasn't being fed by others, and I certainly wasn't feeding anyone else.

Now I am like a lion, jaws wide open, devouring the lie so many loss families have been fed, the lie which says perpetual sadness is the norm when you've lost your child. The lie which teaches that grief is the price you pay for love.

Because grief isn't the price you pay for love.

Love doesn't come with a price. It's freely given and holds no one hostage to despair.

Joy is the gift you receive for love. You just need the right lens through which to view the picture.

Now, I'm not trying to say we should attempt to stop up the natural sadness which naturally comes with loss. Just like anyone else who's lost a baby, I understand grief takes time, no one can dictate to another how long their grief process should take, and no one can tell someone how they're grieving is wrong. The Bible says we are given "a time to mourn". Mourning is an appropriate response to loss.

Even Jesus wept.

Weep for days, months even.

Weep in the shower, and on the playground, and in the baby aisle at Target.

But remember- the Bible also says there is "a time to rejoice".

At the end of our mourning, we should be looking towards rejoicing. More importantly, those who are holding our hands through our experience should be gently guiding us to a place of hope, not encouraging us to dwell in our despondency.

Grief is about hopelessness, and hopelessness is what drives despair.

Christianity isn't about hopelessness, it's about rejoicing in the risen Savior.

The One who saves.

This past Sunday morning in church, we sang the following stanza in a hymn:

"Jesus has come as the mighty Redeemer......Jesus breaks down all the walls of death's fortress, brings forth the pris'ners triumphant unharmed."

(LSB 533)

As Christians, this is what needs to be shared, when a child (or anyone else) dies. Jesus breaks down all the walls of death's fortress. He brings forth the prisoners, triumphant and unharmed. There is no sorrow in that message.

How can we not want to share this?

We are sojourners here, and the Great Commission should always be our first priority. Even when dealing with the emotionally fragile.

Especially when dealing with the emotionally fragile.

Always when dealing with the emotionally fragile.

Often, I'll see posts and "listicles" with rules about how to help grieving families. I've even written them. Inevitably one of the rules is not to bring up the subject of God. But for the Christian, this is an impossibility. We are called to remember God in all we do.

Because as much as we may believe we are aiding someone when they mourn, if we're doing it without mention of the resurrection..... then we aren't helping at all. If we're looking at a listicle which tells us to refrain from mentioning "the God who sees me", we're looking at a list which tells us to avoid the God to whom Rachel cried out, the God who gave Hannah a son in her old age. When we choose to be guided by secular suggestions, we are denying the work of the ultimate grief worker- the one who conquered death. The Man of Sorrows, He who carried our grief all the way to the cross and then crushed it under His heal.

We were not created to die.

We were created to live, forever.

And in this post-Fall world, this world where we don't live forever, when the days are so difficult to get through and the nights are so lonely, we need to remember that. We've gotten so caught up with focusing on feelings that we believe the Truth is dangerous for a grieving family to hear. We believe we need to meet people where they are, but where they are is sitting at the Enemy's table. They are feasting on hopelessness, and by neglecting to share the good news of Jesus resurrection, we are holding the spoon up to their lips.

There was a time when I didn't believe this. I recall being in a bible study at church, and heatedly arguing with other parishioners about this -- telling them bereaved families didn't need the Bible shoved down their throats at their darkest moments. Contemplative thinking during bereavement was too much, I said. The bereaved just want someone to listen to their sadness. I still hold that we need someone to listen to our sadness, but we also need someone to remind us that this sadness, this life, is temporary for all of us, not just those who die too young. We need someone to bring us the good news: death has been conquered, and we will live forever, as we were originally created to.

My mistake came from a place of ignorance: There's an idea out there that the gospel can't be shared in a kind and loving way, and at the time, I was mistaken in agreeing with this idea. Now, I understand more. The gospel can be shared in tenderness, and without brow-beating. The gospel, shared this way, is what people need. It's the tender gospel of Jesus, the lover of children and sinners. The Jesus who wept over his dead friend. The Jesus who felt all of our human griefs and all of our human sorrows, and all of the weight of our sins, and still chose to mourn everything along side us. If you think this Jesus is too offensive to share with a grieving parent, if He comes off as too strong, or cold and hard, then you're not seeing Jesus. Because this Jesus is a Redeemer. He makes all things new, even the smallest most broken baby. He is what we need to know about, when we've lost so very much. He is what we need to know about, from day one.

I've gone on much too long on this subject, but I'll end it with this exhortation:

We were called to be gospel bearers, not grief workers.

We are called to be the salt and the light. We are called not to rage against the inevitable end of this existence, but to look for the coming of the next.

We have a choice, as Christians, to be grief workers or gospel bearers-

Because these two callings are in direct opposition to one another, and we can't be both.

Salt and light, or grief and sorrow-

Which one will you choose?

Wednesday, January 18, 2017
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Tragedy Doesn't Have To Make Us Better People

Constructive Grieving

Every day we see inspirational stories of people overcoming the odds. Our Facebook newsfeed is filled with images of extraordinary courage, our nightly news often features tales of sacrificial love, and self-help books written by those who have overcome difficult situations are best sellers.

We have an obsession with overcomers in our culture. We see them as modern-day Saints... people who have some type of special knowledge which can help us figure out how to be better humans.

In the immediate aftermath of Beatrix's death, there definitely was a kind of "otherworldly" aspect to my thought process. I noticed everything on a grander scale. Time became tangible. Nature became more than just my surroundings -- It was something I was immersed in. I noticed the intricacies of every bee which buzzed around my garden.

Meaning was everywhere.

I now recognize that what I thought was the "new normal" was most likely a prolonged sense of shock. I was so shaken, that the real world wasn't in focus. I became a new creature, unable to function the way I had functioned before -- not because I had some great wisdom, but because I couldn't accept the reality in which I was now living.

Over time I adapted to living in this reality, just as I had adapted to every other grief in life. Things became normal again.

I know this is probably off-putting to some, but it's also probably the truth to many more.

The reason I'm sharing this story of my mundacity is because magnified expectations of wisdom after trauma, big and small, are a heavy load to bear. We've been conditioned to believe that trauma will bring out some sort of all-knowing philosophical mindset in us, and we'll suddenly have a deeper understanding of life's intricacies.

When something really terrible happens, and we don't necessarily learn the secrets of the universe..... and we continue to be the same self we were before our experience, we're left feeling kind of useless:

All the other people who've had terrible experiences have used those experiences as a force for good. All we're doing is living an average life.

Or:

What was our travail for, if not to bring about some type of cosmic knowledge?

Or:

Are we allowed to be angry about what we experienced?

And:

Why didn't our experience immediately change us into a different, better, person?

I think we forget that we aren't superwoman. Maybe our "purpose" isn't to turn all of our grievances into enlightenment lessons, for ourselves or others.

Before you stop reading, I want to be clear: this is a good thing. While tragedy can be a catalyst for introspection, it doesn't make you who you are.

You are the person you were before the tragedy. You may not feel like it, but you are.

I'm still the same girl whose desk is tremendously disorganized and who will never, ever pay her bills on time. Losing my daughter added depth to my character. But it didn't suddenly fix my outlook and make me wise.

You may be told that no one "moves on" from whatever type of trauma you have experienced. While it's true that some things permanently mark you, you can move on. Your trauma doesn't have to be the focus of your daily actions for the rest of your life.

We can choose to use our experiences as a catalyst for change, but if we don't want to... we're under no obligation. And this is a great and beautiful thing.

In the years since I've lost my Beatrix, I've learned that I don't have to make overcoming tragedy the centerpiece of my life. I am not an after school special. I am not a guru. I do not live in a shroud of otherworldly knowledge. I am more than my grief. So are you.

Wednesday, July 20, 2016
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No Matter What Your TV Says: I Promise Not to Steal Your Baby

Bereaved Parent

Why does TV consistently portray grieving mothers as insane murderers?

I'm sure the title of this caught your attention. People generally don't proclaim their intention to do you no harm with such forcefulness unless they are actually intent on harming you. I felt it necessary, however, due to the common characterizations of bereaved mothers on television.

As portrayed in the media, grieving mothers are generally in one of two categories: those who kill other people because the date of their child's death "triggers" them somehow to become mass murderers, and those who steal other people's babies because they are unable to accept the loss of their own.

I've met many mothers who've lost children over the last six years. They come from all walks of life; they are rich and poor, of all different ethnicities, varying political and religious views, and not one of them has ever stolen another woman's baby or become a mass murderer. It is virtually unheard of for a woman to steal a baby after infant death.

In addition, one in four women will suffer a pregnancy loss in her lifetime.... The number of women who have suffered this type of child loss is astronomical. Yet, very few women will attempt to steal another woman's baby after a miscarriage.

In fact, child stealing to replace a lost baby is one of the rarest of all crimes.

Now, I'm sure I haven't met every single bereaved mother on the planet. I'm also sure that someone will post links to a story of a mom doing something terrible out of grief. There's always an exception to every rule, and anecdotal stories are commonly presented as proof of error by those who don't know any better.

But -- statistics show that the uncommon woman who steals a child is more likely to do so because she has a tenuous hold on a partner with whom she is trying to maintain a relationship.

In other words, in the rare event of a woman trying to "replace" a baby of her own (which almost always happens after pretending to be pregnant and only occasionally after a miscarriage) it is for a man.

When questioned afterwards these women are lucid. They have carefully planned out their assault, even searching for women who look like them in order to increase the likelihood of procuring an infant who looks like them. When caught they are usually only remorseful for their criminal penalty and/or the loss of the relationship, not the loss of the kidnapped child -- or the loss of their own child if miscarriage was the impetuous.

Why am I sharing this with you?

Because like most Americans, I enjoy crime dramas.

I love to watch Dr. Reed pontificate about obscure facts while his team looks on in parental admiration.

Bones and Booth? They're the parents I wish I had growing up.

But what I'm not so enamoured of is the multiple storylines focusing on murderous bereaved mothers.

{As a disclaimer, I'm not the "trigger warning" type. I don't expect writers to change their storylines because of my feelings... Just making a statement here.}

There seems to be a pervasive belief that women who lose children are somehow beyond control in their grief, and that allowing them to "dwell" on their child loss is dangerous. Encouraging women to move on as quickly as possible is our society's norm. We offer quick euphemisms and then when they fall flat, we decide we "didn't know what to say", instead of acknowledging the truth: we just wanted her to stop talking about her dead baby and kept talking until our callousness shocked her into silence.

We're afraid of bereaved mothers. These media portrayals don't help assuage that fear. They make women who have lost children look unstable and monstrous.

Instinctively we all understand that the most primal bond between humans is the bond between mother and child. There is no sexual union, no other familial union, no close friendship which will ever eclipse the union between parent and child. Even more so for a woman, as she has carried the child within her body.

When that union is corrupted by loss, we grieve differently than we grieve any other loss. When a child dies, the future dies with him/her. Children are ours in a different way than our parents and other loved ones are, and their death turns our destiny into something we can't control through hard work and free-will. Child death is not supposed to happen, to anyone. So we grieve long and hard and deep.... And this is what the contemporary narrative is picking up on. They are picking up on the crazy grief which surpasses all other griefs.

Why does this really matter, if I'm not a "trigger warning" type of person?

It plays into how bereaved parents are treated. More importantly, it can play into how they are treated in clinical settings.

When I delivered my daughter I was offered antidepressants less than 12 hours after her death. I was mystified. I declined, telling the doctor "I think I am supposed to be sad right now, my baby just died". In the days following, more than one nurse remarked that I was uncharacteristically calm -- one of the calmest bereaved mothers she had ever worked with. I can only assume they were worried about my mental health. I think I was in a state of shock.

One thing I wasn't was homicidal.

I also wasn't itching to run into the nursery and steal someone else's baby. To be honest, in the initial time period after losing an infant, most loss moms don't want anything to do with babies. We avoid baby showers, we've unfollowed you from Facebook if you made a pregnancy announcement, we don't want to talk about your pregnancy, and we don't want to visit your newborn.

It's also kind of insulting that you believe our babies could so easily be replaced.

We don't want your baby, we want our baby.

The idea of a bereaved woman who somehow becomes so crazed she is unable to control violent urges is part of the (extremely) dated concept of the instability of "hysterical" females. It affects how we're treated by medical professionals. It affects how we are treated by our peers in the workplace. It affects our relationships with our spouse and other family members. Because those around us are so afraid of the "uber-griever" they assume that any display of extreme emotion is a stepping stone to complete insanity.

We are hindered from expressing the deep, deep pain we feel regarding our loss. Most of the loss moms I know become very adept at hiding their grief, very quickly. This suppression can often cause unnecessary suffering.

As I said above, I am not a trigger-warning type of person. I would, however, like to offer a suggestion to those in media:

The next time you have a storyline which features a bereaved mother, why not show who we really are? Why not show the extreme solidarity found between mothers who have lost children? The thousands upon thousands of memorial items we create for one another? The one-on-one support systems we have created for other suffering loss?

Loss mothers are some of the most courageous and passionate women I have ever known. While I wish that I did not belong to this group of women, I am so fortunate that this sorority exists and has welcomed me into its fold.

You can choose to portray us any way you like, but be mindful that in continuing to portray us as murderous kidnappers, you are continuing a narrative which was outlined in the distant past, when women were seen as little more than bottles of emotion.

It would be amazing if you could promote a more accurate picture of the compassion and fortitude of a loss mom. You would be helping our families, friends, and medical professionals to treat us how we deserve to be treated: like human beings who suffered the greatest loss a person can suffer, and need time to grieve our children, instead of viewing us as lunatics to be avoided at all costs.

Tuesday, June 28, 2016
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Parenting After Child Loss: The Day I Gave Up On Motherhood

Acceptance

Wednesday, May 25, 2016
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Angel Baby: Does My Angel Baby Watch Over Me?

Brutal Honesty

Tuesday, March 15, 2016
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Mediums: Does The Child I Lost Speak Through Them?

Acceptance

Last week I wrote a post about the afterlife. Today I'm continuing the conversation, and I wanted to focus on psychics. This is part of a series, so will not be exhaustive regarding Christianity and loss.

Again -- heavy topic. Not for everyone. If you aren't Christian, this is going to be a bunch of crazy talk to you. If you aren't ready, this may seem cruel to you. Choose wisely.

It may seem innocent to allow ourselves to believe our children are communicating with us through others who claim to have "gifts" which allow them to communicate with "the other side".

Mediums who make this type of claim have become commonplace. They have their own television shows, write bestsellers, etc. We think of them as a fun diversion. We don't often consciously connect them to the occult, however, they definitely fall into that realm. The Bible clearly speaks about the occult in both the OT and NT-- and they are always spoken of negatively.

Do not turn to mediums or seek out spiritists, for you will be defiled by them." Leviticus 19:31

That's a bold statement. You will be "defiled". It doesn’t really fit in with our modern attitudes either – who thinks of their fellow humans as “defiled”? Do we even use that word anymore? It's so negative...

This theme continues into the New Testament:

"Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God." Galatians 5: 19-21

While this seems cliché: when we dip our toes into the stream of mysticism (which communicating with the dead certainly is) the chances of being swept away are much greater than if we had not wandered near the water at all.

We are talking about a presumed relationship with the children we lost, after all. How could we not get swept away when we believe we are communicating with them?

There is nothing we hunger more deeply for than a connection to our children, but any effort at connection which runs counter to God's promises will always fall short of the connection we receive through the redemptive love of Christ.

We make the decision to pursue after-death theories contrary to His promise because we are attempting to turn the promise into something we have control over. We want to turn our children's absence into something we can manage. We have a difficult time accepting "no" from anyone -- especially a God who has "taken" our child from us.

But does this type of communication make them any less gone?

And how is God's promise honored when we refuse to acknowledge the reality of death?

Death is part of the Christian redemption story. Our entire belief system rests on the truth of the resurrection. The resurrection is meaningless without death. Without it, our religion crumbles and becomes myth. Without death there is no resurrection of the body.

In addition, we will also pass away. Like I detailed in my last post, anything short of heaven means eventual, permanent separation from our children. If we insist our children are still here in the temporal world, we are directly denying the promise of a God who said to the thief on the cross "today you will be with me in paradise". That God promises eternity.... But He promises eternity away from this world.

We also don’t know where/from whom a medium is receiving information from. Because of the power of the internet it would be relatively easy for them to get enough private information about you to make your session seem fruitful…. And that’s the best case scenario – at worst, many teachings indicate that the messages mediums receive are not coming from our lost loved ones, but from supernatural beings who don’t have our best interests at heart.

Last, I can't decline to mention the financial issues involved. The misinformation shared by psychics can be overwhelming to a loss parent. They give us “secret” messages from our babies and help us make the connection we so desperately desire to make with our children. The well of knowledge they share with us could be bottomless -- after all, psychics make a living telling us what we want to hear. The more often we come to them the more lucrative their practice. When they tell us our baby is near and is speaking to us, it is easy to believe this is true, and they hold out the information we seek like a carrot on a stick. We will continue to use our resources to make more visits – resources God has given us to provide for our families and perform acts of charity. Resources we could use to be honoring our babies.

(Psychics also often promote other Counter-Christian practices, which they could encourage us to participate in. The more we open ourselves up to their manipulations the more they will take advantage of our sorrow.... And the farther they will lead us away from trusting in God's plan.)

We are all tempted to look away from the cross. This life seems so long, and the grief is just so deep.

Just hold on momma. What He's got planned for us is so much better than anything we could imagine ourselves.

Next {and last} portion of this small series will be "All About Angels", about the nature of angels. I'd love to hear what you have to say about this, or any other subject related to grief, child loss, and Christianity.

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Tuesday, March 01, 2016
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The Grieving Season

Beatrix Elizabeth

Tuesday, September 15, 2015
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My Story Of Loss Began Well Before She Died

Abortion

Friday, August 07, 2015
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A Different Type of Loss- What Planned Parenthood Tissue Harvesting Means To Me, The Post-Abortive Woman

Abortion

**DISCLAIMER

This is a different type of loss post. It is a post about the Planned Parenthood videos currently being released. I also write about my own post-abortive experience.

Please guard your heart when deciding whether to read this or not.

This past week has no doubt been an emotional week for many American women. Statistically speaking, {supposedly} one in three of us have ended an "unwanted" pregnancy via abortion.

This means that last Tuesday many of us woke up not to images of a beleaguered, controversial corporation caught in a scandal, but to a reminder of what our very personal, past choices really encompassed.

It wasn’t made any better when social media was, again, plastered with a callous PP worker bargaining for human organs today.

I terminated my second pregnancy, in the second trimester, in 1994. I was moderately pro-choice. I never thought I would have an abortion, but I didn't believe I should be making the choice for anyone else. When I got pregnant a second time at 19 -- already a single mother-- I did what I believed was right for my family. I believed that it was the only decision I could make. There were medical complications with the pregnancy which made it easier to choose abortion.

At least I believed it would be easier at the time.

There were things I saw and heard while in the clinic which still wake me up in a cold sweat. What happened after my surgery made my experience more traumatic than most {if there is such a thing as more traumatic than ending the life of your unborn child}. I found it necessary to return to my physician for further care, because the "procedure" was incomplete and "fetal tissue" had been left behind. I was fortunate to have realized this early because retained "tissue" can cause serious infection which in turn can leave you infertile or even cause death.

Unfortunately, I was only made aware of the retained "tissue" because it was visible on a sanitary napkin following my abortion -- along with surgical gauze which had been left behind in my cervix.

The current events have been a reminder of an experience which was particularly painful. I've watched a number of anti-Planned Parenthood videos throughout the years but none brought such a feeling of revulsion as the ones which are currently circulating. As Dr. Nucatola described manipulating the unborn child for maximum ease in obtaining intact organs I was reminded of the lack of concern for my health, as evidenced by the retained tissue and gauze which I found in the days following my abortion. I was reminded of my own unborn child's humanity, as she spoke so casually of crushing legs and other fully-formed body parts. I was shown the unfeeling nature of an organization which promotes destruction and financial gain under the guise of empowering women during Dr. Gatta’s conversation about the costs of tissue procurement, in which she made the statement, “I want a Lamborghini”.

This past week has brought out a variety of emotion, but primarily I feel sadness and anger.

Sadness because until this week I was never fully comfortable openly mourning the loss of that one, sweet baby.

Who was I to mourn the loss of a child I chose to throw away? It's not about a baby, after all. It's about choice.

As a 19 year old girl I was mistaken in believing their narrative -- the narrative in which my child's life was an impediment to my own growth, nothing more than a choice. I was mistaken to believe their view, that my unborn baby would be a burden.

This mistake turned out to be deadly for my child, as it has been for millions of children conceived in the U.S. for the last 40 years.

And angry--

For too many years, women have believed the lie which Planned Parenthood has told us. They have believed the lie which states that our reproductive health depends solely on them, as if a woman can't find and fund alternatives to PP’s monstrous and murderous infrastructure.

Women have believed the lie which states PP is our only ally in the fight for women's rights --and that those rights are reliant on the destruction of our unborn children.

Women have believed PP when they told us that they wanted us to have better lives.

Women have believed PP when they told us our unborn children were not human.

This week was difficult. I am a mother.

I will now always wonder- was my child's body manipulated for organ harvesting?

Was my child's termination prolonged so that an intact liver, an intact pair of lungs, or an intact heart was made available for research purposes?

Was there a possibility that my child felt extended and unnecessary pain during the procedure because someone was attempting to procure intact tissue?

As stated in the long version of the video-- transcripts available here-- not all babies' lives are ended before the "extraction" procedure begins.

The potential pain which my unborn child suffered is something which I have struggled with for over 20 years. I know this is a primary concern for many {most} post-abortive women. There are many women whose hearts are heavy with new-found grief tonight.

I am sending this message out today not as a pro-life activist, but as a former Planned Parenthood patient.

Planned Parenthood owes me more than a canned response about legality and tone.

My abortion hurt me.

My abortion ended the life of my unborn child.

For once, Planned Parenthood needs to address the thousands of women who have been hurt by their abortions. Planned Parenthood needs to address the women who felt taken advantage of today. They need to address the women who may have consented to tissue donation, not realizing that PP wasn’t talking about “a clump of cells” but intact lungs, muscle, and brains, being removed from babies which may have been delivered using less than compassionate methods.

Planned Parenthood owes every woman who has had a procedure in their clinics more than a canned response.

Preferably before the next set of videos shows up.

I didn’t consent to tissue donation, because I wanted to help fund their executive’s luxury auto.

I consented because I was trying to make some sense out of what I instinctively understood was a senseless decision on my part.

Over the past two decades, I’ve grappled with, and admitted to the dishonesty and selfishness inherent in my choice- it’s time that Planned Parenthood does the same.

Tuesday, July 21, 2015
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Supporting Grieving Parents: Are You a Grief Worker or a Gospel Bringer?

Tragedy Doesn't Have To Make Us Better People

No Matter What Your TV Says: I Promise Not to Steal Your Baby

Why does TV consistently portray grieving mothers as insane murderers?

Parenting After Child Loss: The Day I Gave Up On Motherhood

Angel Baby: Does My Angel Baby Watch Over Me?

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My Story Of Loss Began Well Before She Died

A Different Type of Loss- What Planned Parenthood Tissue Harvesting Means To Me, The Post-Abortive Woman

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