I Cried, for the First Time

No, not just now. Nor recently. More like over a year ago.

In the previous post I mentioned that I would be writing post ideas that have been swimming in my head for a while. No, I have not been dwelling on the crying continuously for a year. Actually, it is something I have only recently remembered and realized.

As long term readers will recall, the first and last time, I cried was a day or so after the first abortion. The following excerpt is from "Damn! That Hurt!";

...The only thing I clearly remember after that was going to a Wal-Mart with my mother.  We were in line waiting to purchase our items.  Behind us was a couple about my age.  They had a baby in a stroller with them.  The baby was crying.  Basic fussing, like babies do, not causing too much of a scene.  I was about ready to burst into tears.  I asked my mother for the car keys to wait in the car.I bolted out of that store so fast.  The moment I got in the car I bawled like never before.  Tears streaming down my face and hyperventilating in my breathing.  My mother got in the car.  Asked me what was wrong.  Really?  She couldn't put the two together?  I said something to the effect of "I killed my baby" or "I will never see my baby" or both of those things.  Her response?  Oh, that's all. I thought maybe the baby was annoying you and something about I did the right thing, it was no big deal, I would get over it, etc.  Then and there I decided that the only thing to do was to be numb about the situation.

If you are new to reading this blog I would recommend that you read "The First Abortion," to be able to start at the beginning of my story.

Back to the subject at hand. I had not cried since then. I suppose it would be rather difficult to cry over something I did not remember. But even after the memories surfaced I still had that inner child crying within me. Eh, she was probably there the entire time, since the first abortion. I just refused to acknowledge her. I didn't even know why she was there. Though deep in my soul, I knew she was there.
There were times I felt like crying. But could never really bring myself to cry. Sure, there were times when I would get sniffly, maybe even a tear or two fall down my cheeks.
During the different grief sessions at the Rachel's Vineyard Retreat the other attendees did cry, when telling their stories or listening to others' stories. But I was just stoic when speaking and listening. No one judged me for not crying, nor did I judge others for crying. There may have been a moment of self judging myself for not crying. "What's wrong with you, do you have no feeling?"
It was when I was going through a particular rough patch at the beginning of last year, 2017, when I did finally cry. I had been switching between bouts of anger (angry at who or what I do not know) and extreme sadness. One night, late at night, in late January or early February I went on a video binge on YouTube. Searching for all the saddest and most painful songs I could find.

It was then I finally let the tears fall in a sweet sweet release! Everything, the pent up feelings for the past twenty-two years finally came bursting out. Every ounce of moisture being released from my eyes. Face completely wet. Puffy eyes. All of it. Was this the first time crying ever within those years that I had cried? That heavy? I am not sure. I probably had cried, a time or two, over something unrelated. But I really don't recall crying like that.

I never really felt the need to talk of it. I never thought there was any significance in it. But I truly believe this was a major pivotal point in my healing. Probably not a first step, but definitely a huge step, even leap, in my journey to getting up and dusting off.

I am Responsible

I am sure to some readers the writing of my abortion experience may seem as though I am bragging about it. Or maybe that I am not taking responsibility for my part. Maybe I am placing blame on others.

It is a delicate balancing act for me. I do take responsibility for my part. But that is just it, my part. I was the one who was pregnant. I was the last in line to choose to have my children sucked out of me. I should have stood up for the sake of my daughters. The blame for the second abortion lies more on part than the first. That is a hard reality to take, but I take it. In the middle of the night I find myself saying aloud "I killed my children." Completely audible.

Am I the only one to blame? No. When the first pregnancy was confirmed I may not have been elated, but abortion sure as hell didn't come across my mind! There were others who led, maybe even manipulated me into relenting to the abortion. "Matt" for his non committal attitude. My mother for the turn around in support. My grandmother for the deception.

The common consensus is that people need to take the blame for their own actions. Yes, that is true. While the woman is the ultimate decider in whether to have the abortion; those who influence, coerce, or even at times force her, should accept their culpability in the death of the woman's child.
A few days ago I did a Google search about the statistics regarding the percentage of women who are coerced into abortion. Many websites and pro-life books state around 64%. Personally, I would believe the statistics to be at a much higher rate. From a website, The UnChoice, is this;

 Up to 64 percent of abortions involve feelings of being pressured to have an abortion, and other factors, such as rushed, deceptive, negligent or conflicted or profit-driven counseling, can also have a significant and often synergistic coercive effect.⁴ Furthermore, based on even the most minimal standards of care and human rights, such assembly-line care is exploitative at best and a recognized human rights abuse, even under liberal abortion laws.

Full article of How Common is Coercion, here.

Does He Even Remember Me?

That's a question I asked myself last night while trying to sleep.

I sometimes have dreams about getting back together with "Matt." Many times it comes to fruition. But then he disappears. Or one of us we will try to contact each other, yet missing a connection. We are never parents in any of the dreams. I never really gave much thought to any of these dreams, other than wonder where that came from after waking up.

Until last night. I was thinking about him. Thought about the good times and the bad times. And yes, there were good times. But does he remember any of them? Does he remember the woman he dated for a year and a half? Does he remember the woman whom he impregnated? Does he ever wonder if the child really was lost to miscarriage? Did he ever wonder if she was pregnant before breaking up with him? If he thought yes, did he wonder what happened to that child?

Does he even remember her name? Does he remember what she looks like? Does he remember that he was her first...everything?
I remember the first time he kissed me. I giggled. It was nothing against him. I wasn't laughing at him. I was almost twenty years old, and had never been kissed! Heck, I had never even dated anyone! It was a nervous reaction. I remember when he first told me he loved me. I just couldn't bring myself to say it back. He was rather offended by that. I wasn't sure if I did love him. I didn't know what love is. Perhaps I still don't. I did end up reciprocating the sentiment. But did I mean it? Did he mean it? I don't know. Perhaps, on both accounts.
I remember the first time he tried to have sex with me. I remember being swept away and taken in. Almost relenting. Then pulling back. I remember the first time of surrendering to him. The details of which would not be appropriate to speak of.

During the breakdown of 2014 I did check on Facebook to see if he had a profile set up. Not really that I wanted to reconnect, just checking to see if he was on there. What would I even say to him? Why would I tell him that I was contacting him after all this time? At that time he was in a relationship. He may or may not still be.

I have since found out that he now has a son. Doing the math, that son is less than a year younger than what Hanelore would be. Because I don't know the exact mathematics of that boy's birth month or even when Hanelore's due date would have been; I am not sure if "Matt" impregnated another woman towards the end of our relationship or soon after my breaking up with him.
There is a bit of hurt in that. Whether he was cheating on me or started a relationship soon after the break up. I can't help but wonder what was so special about the mother of his son that she was "allowed to" give birth to his child, but I wasn't. Did she have support from "Matt"? Did she have support from her family? Or was she stronger than me and stood up to them all? Is she the woman "Matt" is in a relationship with, or was recently? Does "Matt" look at his son and think that the son may or may not have a sister? Does he regret his non committal attitude toward my pregnancy with Anastasia? 

Giving to Toys for Tots

Gawd, Christmas is rather crappy this year. Or at least the commercialization sappy Frosty the Snowman crap is.  I have always tried to remember Christmas is about Jesus, the birth of the coming of Our Savior. But I haven't really put much emphasis on that.  Until this year.
This year the main focus decorations are a ceramic Nativity set of my grandma's with a new Creche I bought on Amazon and an Advent Wreath all prominently displayed on the mantle.  Surrounded by a a couple of Eastern style icons.  Previously I would go all out with bright colorful decorations and bright lights.  All that I've got for the more "holiday themed" stuff is a small white tree with a few ornaments and white lights. I do have some of the old "holiday" decor scattered about on my desk, debating whether they should go back in the packing box.  Not really sure where to put them.

For many of the Christmases during the past 20 years after the abortions; when I have seen children's toys prominently displayed I have had a strange yearning.  A yearning to buy the toys.  But I didn't know why.  As I had no one to give the toys to.  And up until early 2014, the abortions never even crossed my mind.  I was a good little girl like my mom and Planned Parenthood told me to be and "forgot all about it."

I am not one to tell others of giving to charity.  I find it rather tacky.  But part for my healing I felt the need to purchase some little girl toys and give them to the local Toys for Tots.  Though Anastasia and Hanelore would now be college age, I tried to think of what they would have liked to play with had they been allowed a childhood.  I thought of things I liked when I was little.  Got a set of white and pink pots and pans and cooking utensils, a purse puppy in a pink purse that comes with a a doggie brush and bone, a tiara princess set with white and pink rhinestones, an Elsa and Anna dolls from the Frozen movie.  That movie didn't come out until a couple years ago, but I saw it once and thought it was a cute movie so I figured some little girls would like to play with them.
I am not going to buy anything for friends and family this year.  I used to make presents for people.  But this year my heart just isn't in it.  Nor is my heart into buying presents.

I was fine up until I got into the store.  Even while I was shopping for other things I needed in the house I was excited to buy the toys.  But then when I got to the toy aisle I just about lost it.  I was a bit teary eyed. Oh, and it didn't help there was a grandma shopping with her younger grandkids.  Yeah, and grandma was probably no more than ten years older than me.  Cute, I am almost grandma age and I don't even have kids.  Though I was supposed to have them, but denied them.  I was trying so hard not to cry in front of them all.  Yay, and the store was playing the obligatory cheery happy "holiday" songs.  You now about reindeer, Frosty the snowman, The Chipmunks singing "holiday" music, sitting cozy by the fireplace with your significant other, family gathering, etc.  Oh happy joy!

Where I purchased the toys from no longer had the drop box.  But I know other places in town have drop boxes.  So I took the toys home and put them under the tree.  Oddly, I found it rather comforting.  Although it is rather bittersweet.  Made me think of the presents I didn't get to, but should have put under the tree for my daughters.  I have asked around and found a few places where I can take them before they get picked up.  For now I will think of the little girls who will find joy in the toys.