Life Matters

People who know me well know that I am politically minded, perhaps to excess. I am a news and political commentary junkie, and express my opinions on current issues openly in face-to-face conversations. 

I have dialed back some of the vigor with which I engage in debate, and I hardly ever enter the fray online, since I find the lack of accountability and overall vitriol associated with the "mask" of the internet counterproductive when trying to have a legitimate conversation about the things that really matter. 

But I won't hold back in my opinion on this particular topic. First, because it has been a moral absolute for me since I was a teenager. Second, because it is so closely tied to everything I am dealing with in my own life right now.

Life matters.

I've said this before, in a variety of contexts. In some circles, it is met with nods of agreement and understanding. In others, it leads to a discussion of exceptions and extremes. And sadly, it has also been met with anger, accusation and demeaning attacks.

Life matters.

We are a day away from what I honestly, in the deepest parts of my soul, believe to be the greatest tragedy perpetrated against mankind, by mankind-the day that marks the anniversary of the Supreme Court decision of Roe vs. Wade. 

I am not debating the merits of the case that has redefined personal politics for over 40 years. 

I am stating something that I know now, more than ever to be true.

Life matters.

Since October, I have said goodbye to life. I firmly believe my first lost pregnancy in October was a twin pregnancy. I have no medical proof of that. I do have intuition and spiritual knowledge that has helped me to know that. Those babies came and went in the blink of an eye, but left an indelible mark on my life. And they were, contrary to what many would say, babies. Small as a grain of sand, but they were babies. They were life. 

My more recent loss, a little over two weeks ago, was more tangible. Pictures on the ultrasound tangible. Felt like a miracle tangible. A baby. A life created by people with the help of a talented physician and some powerful medication. Small, only a centimeter. A miniature peanut on the screen. An absolute life. 

The political fracas over abortion makes my head spin. Makes me sick. It always has. Now, more than ever. Because if those babies who are aborted 6, 8, 12, even up to 24 weeks are not life, then what are my little angels? 

Are they not life too? Were the moments I felt my heart connect to them and communicate with them nothing? Does the grief I feel over their in-utero deaths not exist?

We have devalued life to the point that we don't even recognize the miracle that exists when a life is created. It is an absolute, undeniable miracle.

I have watched dear friends lose children at different points. Some, when they were teenagers, and a gaping hole like none other has been left in the wake of their magnificent, sparkling, joyous lives. Others have lost babies after only days, and sometimes, minutes, of their birth. The hole left behind is no less real. Those lives mattered. They were miracles.

After three and a half years of trying to create a life, I am now, more than ever, convinced of its' majesty. It is no accident. It is not something to be made into a political fight. It has nothing to do with privacy. To end it, at any point, is a tragedy and I daresay, a sin that I cannot comprehend. 

I don't say this to ruffle feathers or pick a fight. 

I do say this to plead and implore that we each reexamine the value we place on life. 

There are medical considerations related to this subject that are hard to fit into my moral framework. I have had to work through those. My recent miscarriage came with the option of a D&C. I chose no, with the understanding it may become medically necessary. These things happen. Thank the Lord above for amazing medical advancements and technology.

But ending life out of choice, to stave off inconvenience, to run from responsibility, and sadly, even to avoid painful situations that leave horrible emotional scars, is something I cannot understand and will never support.

Life begins with the miracle of conception. Every life has a purpose. Every life is beautiful. 

Today, and for many days to come, I will weep for my own sweet angels, whose lives DO matter, and will matter forever.

I will also weep, as I have for many years, for the more than 55 million lives of babies that have ended since 1973. Their lives mattered. They DO matter. They will matter in the hereafter. 

I pray for those who have lost children, at any age, including before birth. I pray without judgement and with endless compassion for those who have chosen abortion in their own lives, that they will find peace and healing. 

I pray for us as a collective humanity, that we will see the value in all life - no matter how small. 

I close with the words of the blessed Mother Teresa from her courageous address to the National Catholic Prayer Breakfast in 1994, for she has said perfectly what I feel in my own heart. 

"But I feel that the greatest destroyer of peace today is abortion, because it is a war against the child, a direct killing of the innocent child, murder by the mother herself. And if we accept that a mother can kill even her own child, how can we tell other people not to kill one another? How do we persuade a woman not to have an abortion? As always, we must persuade her with love and we remind ourselves that love means to be willing to give until it hurts. Jesus gave even His life to love us. So, the mother who is thinking of abortion, should be helped to love, that is, to give until it hurts her plans, or her free time, to respect the life of her child. The father of that child, whoever he is, must also give until it hurts.

By abortion, the mother does not learn to love, but kills even her own child to solve her problems. And, by abortion, that father is told that he does not have to take any responsibility at all for the child he has brought into the world. The father is likely to put other women into the same trouble. So abortion just leads to more abortion. Any country that accepts abortion is not teaching its people to love, but to use any violence to get what they want. This is why the greatest destroyer of love and peace is abortion...

But what does God say to us? He says: “Even if a mother could forget her child, I will not forget you. I have carved you in the palm of my hand.” We are carved in the palm of His hand; that unborn child has been carved in the hand of God from conception and is called by God to love and to be loved, not only now in this life, but forever. God can never forget us."

~Mother Teresa, February 5, 1994,
The National Catholic Prayer Breakfast

Life matters.

Gone

On Tuesday, we said goodbye to another angel.

We had kept this pregnancy quiet. Played the round of treatment close to the vest. I held back from blogging and sharing. I had to make the decision to move forward with treatment after the October miscarriage very quickly. We began during the first week of November. On December 1st, our test was positive. I believed that this was our miracle baby. The rainbow after the storm. The answer to a million desperate prayers.

Everything was normal. Terrifying and stressful, but normal. No cramping or bleeding. I felt so different from the last time. But every moment was laced with fear that this pregnancy too would end in heartbreak. I watched friends around me announce pregnancies with no trepidation. People with the same due dates shared their news joyfully, while we waited in restrained terror and bitter jealousy that we could not share the same news. Early scans and blood tests are a special kind of hell reserved for people who deal with infertility. While other couples think of names and plan nurseries, we wait for the next test result and next ultrasound to give us a flicker of hope that things are ok.

On December 29th, nearly a month after our positive test, we knew there was a problem. We could see our sweet baby in the ultrasound, but there wasn't a heartbeat. Baby was measuring small for 8 weeks. We took a wait and see approach and hoped the next week would give us a miracle. We would know at 6:45 am on Monday.

Sunday night, the pain began. A tearing and ripping feeling that took my breath away all through the night. I clutched my already showing stomach in desperation and sobbed while my husband held me. The spotting started, and I knew. I told baby that if they needed to go home, to go back to Heaven, then they could go and we would be okay. And I knew that our angel was gone. Nine weeks gone in the blink of an eye.

Monday morning's ultrasound confirmed the bleed and the start of a miscarriage. It is almost surely due to genetic and developmental abnormalities. Which feels like the most meaningless reason ever for two people who want a baby more than anything in the world to lose one. Another one. The second in three months. It is too much to bear. Too much to handle.

The worst of it is over physically. The pain was beyond anything I could imagine. I have no words to describe what happened. I only know that if my husband had not been there for every second of that experience, holding me up and keeping me from slipping away with the unimaginable pain, I would not have been able to make it through. Nobody prepares you for what it will be like to lose your baby after it has started developing and you have seen it on an ultrasound. Nothing prepares you for that kind of pain.

I think right now I am too numb to process everything. I am grateful for powerful painkillers helping me to get through these few very painful days. But I know when those wear off I will be angry and confused and utterly broken again.

August 11th should have been the day our dreams came true. Now I'm not sure what it will be. I'm hoping we'll have a new dream in progress by then. But the dream we lost on January 6th will never be forgotten.