:: The S.I.C.L.E. Cell ::

my view from the prison of a SICLE (Self-Imposed Child Loss Experience) due to debilitating maternal disease
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:: Thursday, January 15, 2004 ::

Promises, promises. I am still waiting on the picture that accompanies the underground account that I want to relay. There is now some difficulty in getting the image from the hospital who doesn't want to release it. Legally they have to release it to the mother, but they might just conveniently "lose" the image before this is all over. I know it sounds cryptic, but just give me some time.

The other day I was in the car coming home from a doctor visit. I was lying in the seat and looking out the window when I noticed a tiny handprint on the pane. It was the sticky, candied handprint of my little boy. My heart ached for him as it always does when he is not around. I began to think of him and all his sweet, unique qualities. Something about the quality of this left-behind signature, this ghost print, drew my mind away to thoughts of another child. A laugh, a touch, a smile... all these things I'll never ever know... yet there is the knowledge of the quality, the value, the uniqueness of these things - the reality of the importance of that person, that person I miss so very terribly. We in this family are all haunted by the absense of a child who should be here.

Will people ever see or understand that losing a child via abortion is less about gaining guilt and more about losing a child? The handprint didn't make me think of what a monster I am, it made me think of what a jewel s/he was, a blessing in our lives that is ever, ever gone.

What a waste. What a terrible, morbid cancer abortion is. And America just can't get enough of it.

When our stepping stones are the broken bodies of our children, we will never get anywhere.

:: ashli 10:02 AM # ::

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