Saturday, July 26, 2008

Greasing the wheels

Ashli's due date post for 2008 includes an excerpt from an email by a grieving father:

Reading that page ... brought back (as seems to happen annually, when the temperature and sunlight are just about the same of that fateful day) the day I walked with my then girlfriend, now wife of 15 years, to planned parenthood, in 1990. There were no opposition groups, no alternative thoughts on it, abortion was clearly the way out of an unexpected/unwanted pregnancy.
Well, needlessly to say, that day haunts me every time I sit back and think about our other two children and their murdered older brother or sister. It still brings me to a sudden outburst of weeping grief and heartbreak (which I just typed through) every time I think of our children.
.... It's difficult to work through the selfishness of that younger time, but I also understand that we were vulnerable, and I honestly think we were prayed upon by the 'system' that was in place.

I understand the way the wheels are greased to get the woman, the couple if necessary, into the abortion clinic, to get the woman onto the table. There's an abortion machine and it'll chew you up and spit you out and never give you a second thought. I got my own leg caught in the machinery but managed, by the grace of God, to escape with my children intact -- no thanks to the abortion lobby and its syncopants. Oh yes, I know. It's why I do what I do.

Who was greasing the wheels? In my case:

  • My sex ed prof, and whoever was responsible for the appalling textbook for the class.
  • An ob/gyn and her nurse I'd gone to for a rubella vaccine, and the friendly staff at the local "family planning" clinic.
  • The woman at the welfare office, and a receptionist at a midwives' clinic.

    I was robbed of the joy of my pregnancy with my son by the way I believed the propaganda for abortion I'd been fed -- about how unplanned pregnancies always result in unwanted, unloved babies; about how poor women need abortions; about how abortion is the responsible thing to do. I was nearly robbed of my son as well. Had my husband made a different friend in basic training, my son could have just as easily ended up in a pathology lab instead of where he is now, aboard a submarine in the US Navy.

    What really is staggering is the impersonal nature of the whole thing. It wasn't even that anybody hated my child and wanted him dead, or hated me and wanted me deprived of my child. Christina and her child never entered into the equation for the purveyors of abortion and their toadies. No living woman or her child ever does.

    To quote Douglas Adams:

    It was cold, not like ice is cold, but like a wall is cold. It was impersonal, not as a randomly flung fist in a crowd is impersonal, but like a computer-issued parking summons is impersonal. And it was deadly - again, not like a bullet or a knife is deadly, but like a brick wall across a motorway is deadly.

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    ashli said...

    Thank you, Christina.

    Christina Dunigan said...

    Hugs, Ash! I was just about to send you the link!