First, I would like to convey my utter disgust regarding the media's constant insistence upon referring to Conner Peterson as "the boy who was to be named Conner." First, he may have been "to be born" but he wasn't "to be named". His parents had already chosen his name and conferred it upon him. Does anyone out there think that Laci referred to her son as "my baby to be named Conner"? It's ridiculous.
Second, if the phrase is a ploy by the liberal media to keep America "in her place" by continuing to detract from the humanity of the little ones (see "fetuses" in Latin), then it's idiotic to, in the same sentence, call "the boy who was to be named Conner" a boy. The fact that Conner is a person is so true that the liberal media can't even maintain their own nasty charade with any consistency. It's pretty revealing.
With that out of the way I would like to say that I realize that my blog is depressing. It is not fashioned to be so, but simply is due to the nature of the SICLE I live with. I take this literally as an online journal. This is my Dear Diary. I put thoughts and feelings in here that I'm not "allowed" to share with others in my life.
When you lose a child in an abortion you're not allowed to grieve. If you do the general sentiment is "Shut up and take the medicine you asked for in the first place." The "pro-choice" sentiment is "Just shut up." The "pro-life" sentiment is "Just give it to Jesus, be healed... and then shut up." So, this is where I go because I can. I write to unload, not to entertain. I'm not trying to be insensitive, but I can't be criticized for writing my feelings in my own personal journal. This isn't a newspaper; I'm not getting paid to maintain a snappy balance of happy, uplifting thoughts with a few lulls thrown here and there. I'm not working off of any formula. These are my thoughts and feelings and that is all.
My responsibility in the Cell is to me and not to the reader. If you're stopping by, my window shade is up and you're catching me disrobing; I'm not wearing a garter or doing a strip tease for you. This is the ugly, messy, nose-picking nakedness - not the polished, cellulite-less sexy naked jig that playfully disappears behind a pink froo-froo shower curtain.
I just wanted to get this out of the way, because I have been told that my blog is "difficult" to read (because it's so depressing). It has been suggested that if I throw a couple of upbeat posts in here and there everyone could feel all warm and squishy at least some of the time and I might draw more readers. I would like more readers; I wish I could shout to the world how I feel about what happened, but the blog isn't about fashioning a formula to reel readers in. It may be an unpopular notion, but this isn't a Hallmark movie on channel 3. This is the sucky side of life... and the Cell is the only place I can go and talk about my daily struggle with killing a 15 week old baby who I wanted very much. I'm not allowed to show my crazy anywhere else. This is where it goes. This is where it concentrates. My little boy gets all the happy I can muster but not you. I won't pretend here.
That unpleasantness aside, I've decided to try something. I know someone who sidewalk counsels, that is, she stands outside of the abortion clinic where I killed my child in a second trimester abortion, and she tries to offer other options to the mothers who are trodding off towards death. She has a tendency sometimes to be upbeat even though she subjects herself to much humiliation on a weekly basis. While I do not personally agree with all of her religious sentiments or methods, she has 110% of my respect.
This woman has balls the size of Texas for getting up and going to the front line and "waiting tables at the last chance cafe". She is spit on and reviled, physically abused and hated... and cherished by every mom who actually listened to her long enough to know they had to get the hell out of there with their kids and their own self-respect intact.
She was there when I walked into that business with a child who checked in but didn't check out. I hated her guts at the time, because I believed everything the media (and my teachers) taught me about abortion and people who opposed it outside of abortion clinics. Who did she think she was? I was so sick. I was "allowed" to get out of that illness, and "it wouldn't hurt" because I had a good reason. (This is your brain on severe dehydration and malnutrition.) After I actually went through it and it was no longer a hypothetical situation that I knew nothing (but somehow felt "strongly") about, I realized that out of family and friends and even a husband who wouldn't stand up for the baby, this one stranger stood up and said, "I care about your kid; I stand for you." Somehow we got in contact. I don't even remember how.
I got to know her. I saw her in action a couple of times. It was interesting, and afterwards I gave her my run-down, my critique. "You guys need to do this, cut that out, try this and do that without all the other stuff." She said, "Fine, let me know how it goes at your local abortion clinic and let us know what works so we can do it then." In that one sentence she called me on my hypocrisy, told me to stuff it, and I knew that even though I didn't agree with everything about her approach I'd love her pretty much forever. She cared about my child when no one else did. She cared enough to get up off her comfortable couch and come to a friggin abortion clinic and try to rescue me as I stumbled blindly towards death. She was there. I can't say that of my doctors or friends or family or virtually anyone else. Good Lord, I can't even say it of myself.
So, what I've decided I'm going to do to break things up a little is to bring in her perspective on what it is like to be your classic "pro-life lunatic" who stands outside of an abortion clinic doing battle with death and indifference. I want to give her a voice and the reader a break from me. Hopefully she will contribute to this blog once a week. She'll have stories that will curl your hair and warm your heart. Never a dull moment on the sidewalk. Her first contribution is mild and uplifting and many will appreciate it. Please remember that her posts are her posts. I may not necessarily agree with everything she says, and she may not necessarily agree with everything I say in the blog. It's not about that. It's about voice, and this is hers...
A View From The Sidewalk:
"1 June, 2003
I was talking to my husband Scott this morning as we hiked around these mountains. I said: "One of the things I find difficult is continuing to believe that God is really GOOD." Scott said: "Yes, I know. It's hard to understand why He seems to let so much wickedness go unpunished." I added: "Yeah, AND add that to the fact that He ALLOWS the wickedness in the first place."
It's a fact: Life is filled with injustice. God is an enigma. He is UNKNOWABLE. We understand a BIT about Him, but there remains so much mystery.
One thing that helps me a LOT . . . it's seeing the dear friends who come with me to reach out to the women and men and abortion staff. Pushing past apathy, laziness, the desire for sleep and pleasant company, they make their way to the front of the abortion clinic. Instead of sweet dreams, breakfast out with a friend, or cuddling under the covers with a grandbaby, they choose to face the mocking and obscenities in searing heat and pouring rain. These gentle but determined Christians push past their selfishness and withstand the gnawing doubts and assaults of the world, the flesh and the devil. They pray like children for the strength and the love and the sense of purpose to leave the calm for the whirlwind. THAT'S what fills me with hope and renews my certainty about HIS goodness, knowing that there are still tender hearts and muscular spirits and people who care about people. People with a faith that is ALIVE!
I figure that God made these precious souls whom I love and so it is only reasonable to deduct that He wants beauty and goodness and truth to not only survive, but THRIVE in the desert of this life.
She's currently writing from the mountains on vaction. If anyone deserves a holiday, it's her.