Yesterday was the sad anniversary of Roe v. Wade. Roe doesn't even want Roe anymore, but whatever. Here we are. Some of us anyway.
Knowing that I would have been aborted had abortion been legal in Florida in 1971, I can't help but appreciate that abortion was one time illegal. Those "dark ages" liberals keep screaming about saved my friggin life. So thank you, thank you to the "neanderthals" who valued my gestational existence.
Yesterday was Roe v. Wade. Why I had to "pick" the week after such an anniversary to abort my child in the second trimester I'll never know. January just sucks. It's getting to me.
My pastor didn't say one friggin thing about abortion yesterday in church, and he's usually very good about it. Perhaps he's trying to give me a break. Perhaps he just didn't feel like talking about gestational life preservation again. He does it once a year, but is skipping '06 I guess. There are people in our church, hold onto your hats, who don't care. I've heard them talking, some supporting abortion in the "tough" cases... like their child becoming pregnant with an oopsie baby. Forget the whole Bible thing about children being knit together in their mother's womb and God having a plan for us all.
I didn't say one friggin thing to my pastor about his not saying anything about abortion on the Roe v. Wade shamiversary. Lately, I just don't want to think about it. I just want it to go away like everyone else. I've taken a break. Skipping '06 in an effort to survive? I've taken up crocheting, reading, working on stained glass windows again. Trying to recover a few things that color life. There's a sadness in the art of my old self. A visited graveyard where roses bloom. It's sweet and somber.
Last night I was shutting down as the newscaster flickered a Roe v. Wade abortion advocate march tape across the screen. The anchorwoman commented that Alito has confirmed that he is "anti-choice". I sank into the mattress and clicked the television off. Babies dying in toilets and Alito is "anti-choice". Words, words, words while every Thursday of every week late trimester babies are dying in the room where my second trimester child was deconstructed. Blah, blah, blah go the designer suits making paper mache pig banks out of newspapers, glue and blood.
We lifers are all piteous, misguided twits, they assume. We mean well, but wouldn't we all just fork our way through a hot slice of reality? I know there's nothing I can tell them. I will still get their emails. They will still think I'm an uneducated idiot, a God-player forcing the world to adopt "my own personal" convictions. Yaddah, yadda, yadda and the low, quiet voice of my husband's words washing over me: "You can't make them see." He is right. It's Roe v. Wade day and I'm toppled by the crimson wave of 30 plus years of bloodletting.
My pause over, I slinked out of bed, the quiet of the house ground for feet to traverse. Snapping off the lights I come across the unknowing work of my 19-month-old unaborted daughter: there on the computer screen she has somehow miraculously called forth, from her random keyboard tappings, a large flickering candle that I lit a few weeks ago in memory of the 40 plus million aborted persons that Roe has packaged and sold America topped with a ribbon of "rights". A dark room, a rotten pinata filled with half-chewed thoughts and a candle flickering large across the screen, placed there by a baby I thought for green moments to abort. And one I did more than think away. Picture it.
I wake up today to hate mail, to a lecturing male telling me tsk, tsk, I don't know what I'm talking about. I wish I didn't. I want to be fool that he is.
:: ashli 3:09 PM # ::