Submitted by: Ada Jane
I always wanted kids. I was newly married and we were scared. I was immature. We decided on abortion. We wanted more time alone together. Time to grow together. The night before I put my hand over my womb and I told you that I was sorry. That I loved you and to please come back to me.
The day we went to the clinic we passed a church. We argued over the big bridge. When we arrived the patients waiting were all mixed- older, younger, white, Asian, Hispanic and black. None of us smiled or made eye contact. They brought me back, pricked my finger. They told me what to expect. They did an ultrasound. I couldn’t look, despite my husband telling me to. I cried and refused to see you. One of my regrets.
The nurse said that was usually the hardest part for us. She left us alone. I told my husband that I had changed my mind and that I wanted to go home. But he said it’s what I wanted… wasn’t it? We drove over an hour to get here, don’t back out now.
They gave me twilight drugs. I remember they kept telling me to relax my hips but I felt my whole body shaking, and I felt disconnected and couldn’t control my body’s movements. After, I lay on the floor and needed help getting dressed. I cried loudly. Not my usual self. It hurt so bad when the medication wore off. Now I know, as a mother, that my uterus was contracting.
I cried the entire way home. Newly wed, my husband had never seen me this way. He picked up my medication and brought me take out food. We watched tv and curled up together. For years we didn’t talk about it. We planned the next pregnancy and on ultrasound at 8 weeks, around the time of the abortion I had had, the baby moved. They call it quickening. I didn’t know that you may have moved. Now I’ve had my last baby, struggling with the end of pregnancy and baby-hood. I think of you more. My womb feels so empty. You were there first. You were loved. And dare say, you were wanted.
I struggle with wondering if there was pain for you, where your remains went? I struggle, knowing the depth of love that I have for my children, knowing you would have been loved equally. Now, it’s a whisper. The potential you had. No turning back, regret has no purpose. Still, a piece of my heart gone.