The Cost Of Abortion
By Charlene E Campbell
Featured Rightgrrl December 1998
brdhswife@aol.com
I thought I would write a little something on a bad day. I thought that the world should finally be exposed to the real me. The me that I have to live with occasionally. The me that can't hide from itself. You see, normally I am a very "put together" woman. I have a great husband, four fantastic children, no financial worries, a first class education, a satisfying job. Some would say I have it all.
What is a bad day for an otherwise seemingly happy woman? It is when one event from her past weighs so heavily on her mind that she can barely cook dinner. A bad day is when this woman has to face the reality for the umpteenth time that she had her own child executed. Ripped to shreds and sucked out of her womb. It is when she has to accept that it was she that paid the executioner to get rid of her problem. It is the thought of that innocent baby who did nothing wrong suffering inside of her body. It is the pain of knowing that she can't take it back. It is the fear of having to face that child in heaven someday. It is so much pain that can't even be put into words. And it is feeling like that pain is the least you can do for penance.
It is time that we all realize that I am the woman next door. I am the woman in the next pew. I am the woman in the next cubicle. I am just like so many other successful, happy, stable women in this world. We were told that we would be relieved. We are not allowed to grieve our children publicly because to do so would be shameful. We would be betraying the mainstream feminist notion that abortion hurts noone. To show our pain would be suicidal to any of us who might be trying to climb that corporate ladder. Most feminists would hate us for bashing their sacred cow and the men would view us as weak. And for those of us who stay home to care for children it is equally taboo. How do you explain to your six-year-old son that his mommy, who he worship s, killed her own child? So we suffer in silence. Not every day, but every so often. On those bad days it is as though your soul is being ripped apart. On those bad days "I'm sorry" isn't enough.
This is the cost of abortion.
This article copyright © 1999 by Charlene E Campbell and may not be reproduced in any form without the express written consent of its author. All rights reserved.