Ricochet is the best place on the internet to discuss the issues of the day, either through commenting on posts or writing your own for our active and dynamic community in a fully moderated environment. In addition, the Ricochet Audio Network offers over 50 original podcasts with new episodes released every day.
Choosing Life
I sat in the hot car smelling old French fries. There were always some under the seat where the kids spilled them, but the kids were gone now. I didn’t know where. I looked through the grimy windshield at the building in front of me and read the words on the door over and over again: Planned Parenthood.
Sweat was running down the back of my neck, but I didn’t turn on the air conditioner. I wanted to feel the heat. I wanted the distraction from the pain. My hand strayed to my stomach. I was more than two months pregnant. Still time to kill the baby. And killing was what it was. No one could tell me otherwise. I’d had two children. I’d lost two others. I knew what it was like to feel a child grow inside of me. The little twitches of life, the turning of an elbow or a knee as it rolled across my stomach, the flutter of faint hiccups.
I watched as a young girl and her friend hurried from their car to the building. They slipped inside, with the door banging behind them; I wondered which of them was pregnant. I looked in the mirror. I was 33. Hardly a teenager. I didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror. I saw only shame.
I wanted to get out of the car, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that hospital in Florida six years before. I’d been rushed to the emergency room. I was bleeding and they were rolling me into the ultrasound room to be examined. The room was freezing, and I couldn’t stop shaking. The technician spread jelly across my stomach and turned on the machine. I expected to see my baby dead, his heartbeat silent, his body still. I’d seen that before, and I braced for it. But God had other plans.
My son was alive and well, his little feet moving. His heartbeat was steady. I stared at him, thankful to be able to peer into his world, to see him safe and sound inside of me. I never felt love like I felt at that moment. A mother’s love. So pure. So natural. His features were undeveloped. His fingers fragile, his toes so tiny. But he was my son, and I knew he would grow up to bring happiness to this world. The ache I felt at that moment was one of expectation, longing, and inexpressible joy.
Very different from the ache I felt as I sat in the hot car outside of Planned Parenthood. I felt no joy, no longing, no hope. Only despair and a desperate desire to fix what I’d broken and to get my life back.
I’d separated from my husband. A selfish choice. Oh, I could tell you a thousand reasons—many of them understandable, maybe even justified, but it doesn’t matter. The bottom line was I’d separated and began a new life, one with another man. It wasn’t long before I knew I couldn’t live with that choice. My two children meant too much to me. Children are supposed to live in a stable home where they grow in the confidence and assurance of both their parents’ love. I couldn’t live with the sadness I saw in them since the separation, during those weeks they stayed with me before returning to visit their father. Their confusion and their fear were burdens I didn’t want them to bear any longer. So I decided to reconcile.
There was also my church. I had left it too—another broken part of my life I needed to fix. I had been publicly excommunicated, shunned. Church members weren’t allowed to eat with me. When I saw them in town, they turned the other way. They saw me as an untouchable, no longer a Christian, no longer a mother. Unforgiven. Cast out.
I deserved it. I believed that.
I’d received several letters from leaders in the church that my divorce meant I was no longer a mother to my children. If I broke the covenant of marriage, I wasn’t allowed to enjoy the privileges of the covenant—being a mother. In other words, if I left my husband, I had to leave my children as well. I was no longer a mother in the eyes of the church or of God.
I had received a letter just that week from an elder’s wife, telling me “to do the honorable thing and stay completely separate from your children until by God’s grace you repent and live by faith in obedience to God.” My husband had also written to me that I was to “sever all communication and contact with the children: no visits, no phone calls, no emails, and no letters….You are no longer the mother of these children.”
I read those letters many times, and I knew what I had to do — not just because of the threats but because I loved my children. I wanted them happy again. At peace.
I’ll never forget the day I returned. I went to the elders and begged for forgiveness. I wanted to tell them reasons I’d left, neglect in my marriage — surely some of them would understand —but I didn’t. I kept quiet. I knew what I had to do and I was willing to do it. I was willing to make everything right again.
We sat in a dimly lit classroom at the church. Six men and me. A tribunal of sorts. Bibles open before us. The anger in the room was palpable. So was the grief. The fluorescent lights overhead blinked, and it was raining outside. Streams poured down the windows in thick curvy lines, and thunder echoed through the mountains. The men listened to me and said they would give me the help I needed to fix my marriage, to make my family whole again—if I complied with their admonitions and requirements. I would be a mother again under the authority of my husband and the church.
I went back to my apartment to gather my things, but that night I found out I was pregnant. I had worried about it and put off the test, but I couldn’t live in denial forever. I sat in the bathroom on the floor, my knees pulled up to my chin, and I watched as the red line turned into a cross. My world shattered.
I was at a crossroads. I couldn’t keep my baby and fix my marriage. I couldn’t keep my baby and have my children returned to me. Even then, I didn’t know where they were. They were either with the church people or out of town. I didn’t know. My husband hadn’t told me. He had simply taken them and said I was no longer their mother, that I was dead to them. I wondered if he had told them I’d died. Part of me wished he had.
For two months, I wrestled with what to do. I stayed in my apartment, trying to decide how to face my future, how to fix what was broken. But I knew that some things can’t be fixed. Sometimes we shatter things so badly that all the pieces can’t be put together again no matter how we try. I was going to lose a child somehow. No matter what choice I made, there would be loss—and not just my loss, my children’s loss. They would lose a mother. Everything had changed for them. Nothing would be right or whole. I had created a world by my own choices that brought pain—to everyone. The shame, the isolation, and the guilt were overwhelming. But I deserved it. I deserved the pain, the punishment, the loss. My children didn’t. None of them did.
I considered giving the baby up for adoption, but the father wouldn’t hear of it. He would raise the child. But the church and my husband refused to accept that. I would not be allowed back to raise my two children, to restore my family, as long as I knew where my illegitimate baby was. The only choice was to deliver the baby, and someone (a person from the church or my husband—I didn’t know the details of the plan) would take her from me without me ever seeing her. I would sign over legal rights and they would give her up for adoption. I could do that because according to the law, the father had no legal right to the child since we weren’t married.
But I couldn’t do it. I knew the father would fight it—a battle I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t even know if I could give my baby up for adoption. How could I live with her alive in this world, alone? My child? One day she would grow up and she would wonder why I rejected her. I couldn’t bear to think of it. Maybe if I’d never raised children of my own, I could do it. But I was a mother. I knew what it was like to hold my child at my breast, smell her new baby smells, feel the softness of her skin. I knew what it was like to hear her first words and see the wonder in her eyes when she swam for the first time, or ate her first ice cream, or learned to read her first word.
The tangled web of emotions and consequences was a noose I couldn’t escape. That’s when I thought about abortion. Killing the baby. It would fix everything. How ironic—how twisted—that I couldn’t bear the thought of adoption but I could contemplate death. Yet, in that moment of darkness, I thought it was the best choice. It would be so easy. Millions of women did it every year. My life could go on like it had before. My marriage whole. My children would have their mother again. God would forgive me. The church would accept me back. My family would be together. My children would be happy.
But my baby would be dead.
Could I sacrifice this child on the altar of my selfishness? This beautiful child growing inside of me? A child I was responsible for? A baby I had brought into this world by my own choice to have sex?
The car was like a furnace, and I looked at the door to Planned Parenthood through the haze of heat on the hood. The smell of stale fries brought back memories of my children laughing, of days when everything was good. Maybe not perfect. But good. It could be that way again. Just step out of the car, keep the appointment, lie down on the table, close my eyes, spread my legs, and let them cut out my mistake.
I opened the car door and walked across the parking lot to the entrance. The sky was so blue and birds were singing, but all I heard was my heart beating. All I could see was the blurry haze of the building in front of me. I stepped inside as a bell on the door jingled, and I felt a wave of cold air wash over me. A woman sitting behind the desk looked up.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
I glanced around the room. The girls who had entered earlier were sitting off to the side. One was flipping through a magazine. The other looked up at me. Her eyes were filled with tears. We looked at each other—a shared moment of guilt, of compassion, of pain—and then she turned away. I couldn’t move.
“Miss, can I help you?” the woman at the desk repeated.
I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry. No, you can’t.”
I left and ran to the car. I can still hear the bell on the door ringing. I started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill my child on account of my own miserable mistakes. I didn’t know what I was going to do—I didn’t know what I had the strength to do—but I had to accept the consequences of my choices. I couldn’t end a life to make my life easier or better.
I had to face my pain. Grief is the result of wrong choices. Suffering is the consequence of sin. If we’re willing to sin, we need to be willing to accept the suffering that comes with it. To run from it, to do even worse things to avoid it—piling one wrong upon another—is no answer. It only causes more pain, more suffering—maybe not for you, but certainly for the child you’ve killed.
I didn’t kill my daughter. I’m ashamed that I wanted to—even for a moment. In the end, though, I couldn’t do it. Her blood would not be spilled to make my life easier, no matter how right my motivations might have been when it came to my family.
Choosing life changed my world forever. It was never the same, and it has been difficult as I’ve struggled to navigate the waters of a broken life. Women who abort their children do it because they say they want a better life. But it’s not a better life they want—it’s an easier one. It’s a life without outward struggle, without the consequences of choices already made. It is easier. But it’s not better. It’s never better. Death is never better.
If I had chosen to abort my baby, I would have chosen death. Blood spilled to wash away my sins. Another’s life taken so I could have mine, so I could be free of the consequences of my choice to have sex. But the blood of a child can never fix what is broken. That sacrifice is a lie.
The only blood that can bring life has already been spilled. That red line has already been crossed, and it wasn’t in a dark bathroom as I lay curled on a floor. It wasn’t on a surgical table at Planned Parenthood. It was on a hill far away and long ago. A sacrifice already made. A life already given, so we can live ours—not free of pain—but free of guilt and full of joy.
Published in General
Definitely. Keep those boys away.
Yep, exactly what I was thinking!
So extraordinary for so many reasons. Bless you, Denise.
Thank you D. C. you wrestled with despair and you chose mercy and life. Pax Christi.
What a gift you are, Denise! And what a gift you’ve given the world! I can only echo what others have said and say that I feel privileged to have met you if only briefly for a few minutes at the 200th Podcast Meetup in LA and take satisfaction in knowing that one of my posts brought you a smile. Your story is what makes Ricochet so special and so different than anything else on the Internet. May it provide guidance to other young women struggling with similar decisions. All the best.
BTW Denise, for some reason the title of your post reminded me of this video:
The United Way doesn’t include pro-life organizations as standard beneficiaries, but Birthright and other crisis-pregnancy centers can qualify as recipients. You have to search a bit, but you can direct that your UW contribution–and your employer’s matching funds–go to a pregnancy help center.
Mm, hmmm, I thought of that, too. Must be something about those “Choose Life” shirts.
Thank you. We simply don’t hear many stories from mothers who walked into the valley of the shadow of death, then chose life.
Thank you DC.
Literally, the first thing I wanted to do when I became Catholic was to make a good confession – desperately needed in my case – and be forgiven. Judgment is easy. It is compassion and forgiveness that are difficult, and perhaps even risky.
EThompson: #35 “Those “church” people broke secular law and should have been arrested.”
I heard a woman note that she justified her abortions by becoming more invested in protecting abortion rights for all women. Then she went through a conversion. Some of us get to do this the hard way, since it is the only way we are able to learn.
The elders who took DC to task will end up, if they are graced, learning to do this the hard way. They will face the judgments they bring and will be found wanting, that is lacking in compassion and forgiveness. Better to do that here and now, than to learn it too late to do any good at all. Something to pray for.
DC McAllister: “I didn’t kill my daughter. I’m ashamed that I wanted to—even for a moment. In the end, though, I couldn’t do it.”
This reminded me of the following: “My Father,” He said, “if it is possible, let this cup pass Me by. Nevertheless, let be as You, not I, would have it.” Mt 26:39 Jerusalem Bible
I think many of us look for an out, an easy out, before deciding to face the crucible of what we have done. It must be gone through, now or later, for real closure to occur.
Note: I haven’t read all the responses. If this was pointed out previously, my apology.
I just noticed that the comment I thought I had left to you, WC, never showed up. I did it yesterday on my phone. I referenced it in my comment to Larry (which I’ve changed now because I realize my comment to you never appeared). Odd. I don’t know why it didn’t post. Anyway, I’m sorry for that confusion, but I did want to respond to your kind words. Like I said to Larry, it is hard to receive praise from you and others who have been so generous in this thread because I still struggle with the shame. I got myself into a mess and then was tempted to do something terribly wrong. God’s grace pulled me back from the brink–and the love of my children. The Bible says a mother is saved through childbirth. I know that has a lot of different implications, but in a sense I was saved by my children, by their love and their need for me to be strong. I was humbled by them and infused with a sense of no longer living for myself (even though up to that point I had made selfish choices, and I still struggle with selfishness). I loved my daughter, yet unborn, and when I walked into that building and saw the grief and guilt reflected in that young girl’s eyes, I just couldn’t do it.
No it hasn’t been referenced before. Thank you, Donald.
It was a privilege to meet you too! If I can help even one girl not make this choice, I will be blessed. But I also hope that those who have made that choice already will find peace and grace, forgiveness. They need to be loved too. Guilt eats away at us from within, and I’ve spoken to enough of these women to know that many of them do suffer with guilt. I understand what it’s like to struggle with shame. It is a hard thing to shed (I still struggle with that), but there is hope. Those of us who stand for life need to stand for love and for grace. Without love, life is empty. I know that sounds squishy, but I do believe that. Real love feeds the soul.
Our president would say you were,”punished with a baby.” I bet it doesn’t feel that way.
No it doesn’t. Not at all. What our president said was foolish and cruel.
Reading your post should help people realize that women in this situation are often not in the best state of mind. They are scared, confused, and looking for a solution. It is frightening to know the type of advise some people (like Mr. Obama) are offering these women.
My wife has a friend who made a different decision than you when she was at a Planned Parenthood office 20 years ago. Thankfully she has come to realize that “on a hill far away and long ago. A sacrifice already made.” There is forgiveness, but now middle-aged and childless, she still feels a sense of loss.
Her comment was not only irrelevant to, but an inappropriate response to DCM’s post. My take on DCM’s humble story was this: She was victimized by a group of very scary people who adhere to cult-like behavioral patterns and managed to make life miserable for a quality person.
The moral of the story as I see it is this: My pal Robert Lux may refer to me as “Snoots” but there is always an excellent reason to be discriminating with whom one associates.
Denise, your story has been in the back of my mind all day. I think you are an amazing woman who made the right choice. But. Was it really the harder choice? Sounds like it was the only one with a possibility of reasonably positive outcome. If you had the abortion the father would have hated you always instead of eventually marrying you, and the chances of a happy life with the father of your first two children were very slim.
I ask this question because I think you would have had a harder time choosing life if the father and your husband were urging you to have the abortion. You mentioned in a comment about all the men deprived of fatherhood by women selfishly choosing abortion against their wishes. I suspect those cases are quite rare, and most women choosing abortion are supported or actively pressured by the father.
T’Pol was on Star Trek: Enterprise :)
Thank you Denise, I have recently read about another church which behaves like yours did. Shameful.
I am thankful that you told us this story.
To read so much truth, redemption, grace and compassion here is humbling. Thank you and God bless you.
I really don’t know what the percentages are regarding men pressuring women to get abortions. My experience is that most men don’t even know about it until after it happens. Of course my experience is merely anecdotal. Either they didn’t know or they found out afterward. Or they did know and just went along with whatever the girl wanted to do. (though it could be that men are pressuring women because they don’t want the responsibility; I just don’t know for sure about that). I will say that those men I’ve talked to who found out afterward were deeply saddened by not having the opportunity to make a choice along with the woman. I haven’t heard a lot of blame or anger in those instances. Just a deep sadness.
As far as what was easier. It would have been easier for me to have the abortion at the time because I wasn’t thinking in terms of a future with the father or anything like that. I also knew for a fact that if I weren’t pregnant, my husband would have taken me back and I would have obeyed the church. I would have been with my children again. No divorce. You also have to understand that I thought the salvation of my soul was tied up in my choices—in my choice to remain in the marriage covenant and to not divorce my husband. Abortion was the best choice to return things to “normal”–especially for my children. I knew it was going to be hard on me either way—to one degree or another—but my life would have been like it was, with my marriage intact, and with my children having both their parents, if only I had aborted my baby. The choice to keep my child has not been easy. It changed everything. Life has been hard, but her life was spared. My child lived. Her life is worth the suffering. And out of that suffering there has been joy.
This.
I’ve been through divorce and with my wife (before she was my beloved) figuratively on the door step of PP. Your story resonates with my own experience. Your message of joy even through hard decisions and suffering is exactly what some of us need.
Jojo: #81 “You mentioned in a comment about all the men deprived of fatherhood by women selfishly choosing abortion against their wishes.”
Anyone who has prayed outside the abortuary has seen men driving women to that locale to address an issue that presumably at least one of them does not want to handle. Sometimes it is a father driving a daughter to that location.
Selfishness and a short perspective is not limited to the fairer sex.
Denise, I’m glad you made the harder choice, both for your child’s sake and yours. Reading your account of your culty church brings to mind a wonderful book I read recently titled, “Love, Acceptance and Forgiveness.” I highly recommend it!
I love you. I accept you. I forgive you. You are God’s precious creation. I am praying for your continued healing from the shame of past choices and the shameful way you were treated by those who wear Jesus’ name.
Thank you, sweet friend. I look forward to getting another big hug from you one day. :)
Denise- I pray for women like you everyday who find themselves in a crisis pregnancy, and by the grace of God choose life.
But I’m sure you are rewarded everytime you look at your daughter. I wish our society didn’t push women in these perilous conditions to abort. It needs to be understood that an abortion doesn’t erase the pregnancy like it never happened, its a decision that can haunt women for the rest of their lives and that is rarely articulated in our culture.
Thank you for sharing your story
The Great Deceiver has put the ultimate temptation before us: the apparent knowledge of, and power over, life and death. Millions upon millions have died because the law says that for a few hundred dollars one can pay a medical professional to kill. As mentioned above, our culture of life is now so fragile that we have a President who openly claims that the baby being killed is a “punishment.”
I hope for repentance and forgiveness because this sin recapitulates that of the Garden. But it is also why I am so heartened to hear from those who’ve said “get behind me Satan!” I want more of that Fruit of the Spirit, Hope.