I sat and had coffee the other day, as I oft times will do, amid a swarm of waiters and waitresses all earning their daily dues and was approached by one with a gleaming face who had told me a week before, “I’m pregnant!” So much excitement. So much joy. So many dreams. So much hope.
I’m sorry. I had to step back in my thoughts a moment, but she never knew or would have suspected the thoughts whirling through my head. I’ve lived countless lives in one, and come each day to face regrets more than just a score that haunt me every living minute of the day.
The tiny nose, the finger, the toe swept back the well trod memory of so very long ago when someone I thought was true sat in my car after coming from a “procedure” and told me, lied to me, and I knew, I knew. I knew a tiny nose, a finger, a toe that might have grown and been a man or a woman had been flushed down a toilet somewhere with glowing blessings from Planned Parenthood who stole my child, my child away from me without a care. And for those of you who think a child with tiny toes, a nose, a finger doesn’t suffer from the butchery you are most mistaken and I, I, yes, I suffer from a loss the butchery did cause.
And to those out there who will write with glowing commentary about the need for abortion I wonder if you have a soul or are you just dead inside like the baby sucked up in a tube, chopped up with a blade and flushed down a toilet. So, don’t even approach me with complaint because I will lay curse upon your name and upon your face and hope you one day find yourself flushed like my child was down an open sewer drain.