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

:: Sunday, May 16, 2004 ::

I just had a baby. Most of you know this, but some do not. It was a long haul and if you are interested, the HG diary of the pregnancy can be found in my links section. I posted her picture a few days ago. I purposely tried not to make an issue of the pregnancy over here, because I know that some who read are suffering from the SICLE and reading accounts of the pregnancy process is not always "safe". I didn't want to exacerbate things here. But the pregnancy is over (thank God in heaven) and my daughter, my last child, is born.

Since her birth I have been experiencing a resurgence of unusually disturbing abortion-related PTSD symptoms. Having a nightmare that my first child, in his late term fetal stage, is rigid and mottled in a trashcan outside. I am constantly lifting the lid on his death and my guilt and desperately trying to hide from my husband the fact that our son is in the trash. In reality, I have never hidden it from anyone really. Maybe I'm still hiding something from myself. Obviously. How else would I still be walking around upright?

(WARNING: ABORTED BABY PICTURE IN FOLLOWING LINK. DO NOT CLICK IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO SEE HER.)

Number four sometimes curls into a fetal position. Especially if she has gas or is trying to squirt out a big mustard poop. She gets rigid and the color in her face changes. I find it disturbing although I know that it is a beautiful thing. I resent the fact that my country did not acknowledge my child as such in the womb, and I almost want to hide the fact that she ever was there, because I hate the idea that anyone would think at any time in her life that she was not a living human being. I weep for this attitude. I weep for the children, just like her, who will die today. I think of little Mary. She looks an awful lot like my dove. I weep. What else can I do?

My daughter's umbilical stump hasn't fallen off yet. I look at my own navel and am reminded that I was once a fetus too. The navel... we all have one... a serious scar. What could be the point of it if not to remind us of where we all have been... and that we have no excuse for what we are doing to others who are there now. Our navels... obviously more of us should spend time contemplating them.

(P.S.
Mary was aborted late term at the same abortion business where I lost my child... by the same man: James Scott Pendergraft. Her daddy didn't want her to be aborted, but her mommy had all the "rights". Mommy just up and said she didn't want to have little Mary at around 23 weeks. No reason why. Just didn't want to carry her anymore or raise her. Daddy went along to be "supportive". He got the nurse to allow him to snap a picture of his aborted daughter. Later he turned this picture over to my friend who "sidewalk counsels" at the abortion mill where Mary (and my first child) died. He told her to use Mary's picture that her life would stand for something and her death would not be in vain.)

:: ashli 12:24 PM # ::
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