I can be irreverent, a bit of an iconoclast and somewhat unconventional. Sometimes, that gets me in trouble. For example, soon I’m going to post about suicide––but my approach is going to surprise people. Why? Because I plan to be poignant, instructive and funny.
“You think suicide is funny!?”
I can hear indignant voices blend into a deafening chorus––but no, definitely not funny in that sense. However, as fodder for dark humor––suicide can be hilarious. Especially if one’s approach is to cut through the Gordian knot of self-destruction with macabre, direct tactics.
Of course, morbid, unpleasant and (possibly) offensive yarns have their detractors but handled the right way, the absurdity can be instructive. At least that’s my point of view from the cheap seats.
But what if suicide had affected my life in some way? Then the hell with it, better that I pray for clarity than listen to some knucklehead muse on self-murder.
I feel that way about abortion. There’s nothing funny about it. It’s reprehensible from every angle. And Satan is overjoyed.
Please allow me to share.
“Hi Honey. It’s your dad. Just checking in––call me when you have a chance. Love you.”
Her name might be Grace. His name might be Matthew. Both would be college age and they would be extraordinary in untold ways. I can see them now, the familiar family characteristics from head to toe, their grandmother’s beautiful smile, perhaps their grandfather’s nose. Earnest, happy, funny; young people with character, heart and spirit. And promise. Unbelievable promise.
But they’ll never call.
Grace or Matthew was murdered almost two decades ago. Whom, I don’t know because it’s uncertain whether my baby was a girl or a boy. I do know the agonizing fact exists that I’ve never been able to love and hold my child; that I’ve never been able to smell their skin, kiss their cheek or comfort their lives. This preeminent void in my life is excruciating.
I was sitting in a restaurant when I heard the news from “their” mother. She had gone home to Washington to be near her own mom when she aborted the baby. I didn’t know she was pregnant. Unfortunately, since we didn’t have a relationship, I was out of the loop. I could never quite understand why she never talked to me about her circumstances beforehand. As I’ve grown wiser over the years, my suspicions are she held me in low regard. Her assessment may have been right on target.
I remember being stunned at the news but I can’t recollect her emotions.
Dear God. What did she just say? Please tell me I misunderstood.
I was looking in her eyes, I calmly asked a few questions but I could feel my hatred brewing like putrid coffee. Don’t ask me what she said in response because I wasn’t listening. I do know I felt odd and I didn’t want to spend one more second at that table in that restaurant sitting across from that woman. I stood up and without saying anything, I left. To my never-ending guilt, I never saw or talked to her again.
Even more significantly, or I should say shamefully, I’ve never asked my child for forgiveness.
Such painful memories remind me that I can’t get my arms around the abortion mentality. I’m not talking about the abortion act, murder in my opinion, the premeditated killing of one human by another. My confusion has to do with the rationalizations of the abortion proponents, folks who in many ways are good decent people. I find their position indefensible. Insane, actually, in a reason-has-left-the-room kind of way.
Incredibly, many of them would characterize themselves as Christians, which is beyond dismaying. We’ve killed over fifty million babies since 1973; we murder four thousand a day. As a country, it’s not our finest work. If anything, it’s a looming sign of decay.
I’m baffled by the inconsistency in thought of abortion supporters. They are passionate and committed to the right to choose. Many would be at the forefront in championing civil rights for the disenfranchised, immigrants or the poor. Some are equally vehement about promoting the rights of gay couples to marry. Yet, here we are in the crosshairs of extraordinary human rights abuses, the killing of the innocent, and they are silent.
Apparently, not all rights are equal. It seems selfish entitlements have more gravitas. If these choice advocates desired consistency, shouldn’t they want to end this enslavement to abortion and protect the most vulnerable? Isn’t this a reasonable assumption––or am I insane?
My child’s reality was the horror of abortion. My child ended up in pieces on a stark cold table. My child’s entire natural existence consisted of a handful of heartbeats and then termination by callous, premeditated evil; a barbarity that is avoidable.
The genius of God’s plan was that He “created man and woman together and willed each for the other.” Properly, as husband and wife, “they are called to give themselves in love and in the gift of life.” Sad to say, imprudent actions are a part of the human condition. I’m guilty of such actions. Nevertheless, that does not minimize, in the least, the beauty of the life that I helped create. What is horrific, however, is a beauty that is no longer.
Dear child, dear soul; I am sorry beyond words. I wasn’t there to protect you. Please forgive me. Selfishly I ask. For my sake.