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.

So, yesterday she popped out the pictures and laid them on the counter next to my cup and pointed to the wee toes, a finger, and, yes, there, right there, a nose.

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.

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