Planned Parenthood is opening an enormous facility in the heart of Texas, not just anywhere, but in the heart of the Latino community, near impoverished areas, near minority groups without health insurance. I hear they're dedicating an entire floor of this facility to performing abortions, taking one's life...it's like death row. I would like to volunteer to paint the walls on that floor, paint them all black along with the floors and ceilings. Paint it so dark that you can not see where it is you are going, can't find your way back to where you came from. A long corridor of darkness, pupils enlarge to try to allow more light to pass, but there is no light. I think about the babies that will not survive, will not have a chance in this world, will not find a forever family who is unable to conceive their own children and would delight in the opportunity to have one. I can not make a choice for someone else, no one can, it is theirs to make. That darkness in the corridor will not go away, it will leave an imprint on one's soul for years to come, a constant reminder of the loss of life. It's not an easy fix, there's nothing safe and easy about it, just heartache and pain.
I've never been faced with the decision to abort, I'm thankful for that, but I have had 3 miscarriages that left me feeling empty inside. The third baby I carried to 13 weeks, with all fingers, toes, beating heart, eyes, developed brain and body, but then for some reason, her heart stopped beating and she was no more. I waited for 2 painful weeks for my body to expel this beautiful life that once grew within me, but nothing happened. I kept looking for her each time I needed to use the bathroom, kept wishing to see her little body and hold her in my hand, the size of a grape, nothing more. I wanted to feel her kick, feel her swim safely inside my womb, but we never made it to that point. The heartbeat we heard at week 9 and the assurances the doctor gave us that all would be well now, well it no longer held true. The D & C was the most painful, heart wrenching experience I've had till this day. The sound of the vacuum, the scraping of my near empty womb, sucking the life right out of me, was all too much to bear. I can still feel the scraping, if I listen closely I think I can still hear the vacuum sucking, feel the wet tears run down my cheeks as I lie there alone on a small table in a cold operating room, no one to hold my hand.
Our dear Kayla Marie will never once be with us, she will never see her sister and brother who still talk about her till this day, she will not graduate from pre-school or 8th grade or high school, she will never be a lawyer or doctor or pharmacist, she will never be. I tried to give her life, there was nothing more I could have done, there was no explanation for her death, no rationale or reasoning, just that she will no longer be. I didn't choose to have her die, yet I have felt that pain and have shed tears for her ever since that day. I will never forget her, never forget the day I conceived, never forget the journal I began for her, never forget that she was a part of me. I can't imagine the pain someone would feel if they were the one who chose to end their child's life, that to me would be an impossible burden to bear.
I know our God gives us strength, forgiveness, freedom, and love to survive hard times like these. I have felt His arms surround me, hold me close, wipe my tears, but sometimes, the pain is there and it's real and it doesn't go away. Be careful, be wise, be smart, be safe, and be sure to think about this little life before making any decisions.
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