I’ll confess it. I haven’t watched the videos. I can’t. I cannot make myself push play. I cannot watch people sift through parts of a human baby and laugh and barter on its price. I can’t watch people who callously set prices on the organs of an unborn, dismembered child.
But, it’s all hitting a very sensitive, raw place in my heart.
In the next week, I should have been giving birth. Had things been differently, I would be waddling around, complaining about how uncomfortable I was and giddy that we would be welcoming our fourth. My maternity clothes would be too tight. I would be lying awake at night, unable to sleep and making lots of trips to the bathroom. In the next week, had things been differently, I’d be feeling the cramping turn to contractions, timing them, guessing when it was time to leave.
In the next week, I would have been bringing my son into the world.
But, I never got that chance. Because my son died in utero at 18 weeks into the pregnancy.
As I was scrolling my newsfeed on Facebook this morning, I saw another video had been released regarding Planned Parenthood’s atrocities. The link read, “Planned Parenthood worker comments that ‘It’s a boy.'”
It came flooding back.
I prayed that night, while the world slept. I writhed with grief so painful that it was blistering my soul. I begged my sisters, my mother to pray. I prayed that this child that had already opened its eyes to God was a girl. I could not stand the thought of losing another son.
And his beautiful body was born
“Oh, God, it’s a boy!” I wailed. “I’m sorry, Richard! Oh, God, it’s a boy. I lost another son.”
And I still weep.
He was perfect. He looked exactly like his father. It was precious and heartbreaking. He had the chiseled face, the square shoulders that attracted me to this boy’s father. His nose and his eyes. Everything. He was all Daddy.
And his feet.
He was fearfully and wonderfully made. And I should be welcoming him into our family this week. I should be going into labor, praying that he’s healthy. I shouldn’t know he’s a boy. Because we always wait until they are born to find out.
But, I found out too early. And I held him for hours. I had a meal with him, as he laid on my lap. I slept with him on my chest. And it was the most peaceful sleep I’d had. I held him. I stared at his beautiful self.
I took pictures.
I so want to share them. Post them. So people see that he and his brother, lost at 13 weeks into the pregnancy a few years ago, are not a clump of cells. They were fully formed human beings. Arms and legs. Fingers and toes. A body and a soul.
But people get so offended. It’s too graphic. It’s too much to see. A lion is worth anger and photos. But not a child lost in pregnancy.
I am so upset this week. All these films wherein the Planned Parenthood workers laugh and barter and sell children’s body parts.
I should be welcoming my son into the world. Instead, as I stand in the shower everyday, I mourn my very thin waist. As I flew to a wedding I shouldn’t have been able to attend, I remembered his absence. I sat on his grave that week, and wept. Oh, the irony.
I held them. I mourn them. I miss them. I am empty. Because these are human beings. Infinitely more valuable than a lion. Than a cheetah. Than an animal.
Because they are more than an animal. These are human beings. And if one wonderful thing can withstand all of this, it’s that these sweet babies all sit before the throne of God. They sit with my sons. They sit with the children of my friends, with the souls of my own brothers and sisters. They sit with all the children lost during pregnancy, whether naturally or through abortion.
Try to name your price, Planned Parenthood. These infinitely valuable human beings look down upon you praying for your soul.
And I need to remember to pray, too.
St. John, pray for us. St. James, pray for us.