Why I March

I think we come off as looking judgmental.  Critical.  Like we are condemning those who choose to do it.  We are not.  We are mourning the losses.  So many, it’s impossible to place a number.  But that’s just they point.  They were so much more than numbers in the first place.  Hence our fight to end this.

I have always been prolife.  Because they are people.  I was taught that truth my whole life.  And I believed it always.  I’ve never understood how someone can condone abortion.

But then things happened to me.  Things that made me hold and see why abortion is truly wrong.  Three times.  Three times, I’ve walked through hell to know that each life is precious.  Each life deserves to live.  Deserves to be protected.  That each life is sacred. 

My eldest daughter was born nine months after my husband and I were married.  She was our honeymoon baby.  And she lit up my life.  And also screamed the first five months of her life.  Along with post partum depression, this made me terrified when we received our second positive pregnancy test…three and a half months after she was born.  I was ashamed.  I was embarrassed.  Of what people would think.  The only reason we announced was because someone else began telling others we were pregnant.  We received a lot of comments.  “Get a hobby.”  “Do ya’ll have a hobby?”  Just as I started to get excited about that baby, just as I put my faith in Jesus that He would give me the grace for Irish twins, the worst happened.  I was thirteen weeks.  And the ultrasound was still.  I saw it immediately.  There was no blipping in that precious child’s chest.  My husband missed it. He grew excited, seeing the baby.  I grasped at his chest.  Screaming something was wrong.  He didn’t understand.  I was incoherent.  In that moment, we were in two different places.  Two weeks later, we buried John. 

We went on to have two more beautiful girls.  The youngest of which, we nearly didn’t bring home.  Her pregnancy was hard and she wasn’t growing.  But, praise God, she made it. 

Then, he left for Afghanistan when she was only four months old.  A day after another pregnancy test, I miscarried again.  It would be several years before I could admit that it was a lost baby, not a false positive. 

Months later after he came home, another positive pregnancy test.  Another journey.  We were eighteen weeks.  I felt him getting weaker.  I felt him go quiet.  It was the worst week of my life.  I couldn’t get anyone to believe me.  I couldn’t get any of the doctors to understand.  Until another quiet ultrasound.  Another silent Doppler.  I went up to labor and deliver, delivered my son, and buried James two weeks later. 

We’ve been blessed, finally, with a son here.  He’s our third boy.  My first son here.  It’s weird to have carried seven people.  To have grown seven lives.  And only have four to show for it.  It’s saddening.  Something I try not to dwell on. 

But those three I lost, the two I held and buried–they taught me firsthand the beauty, the sacredness of life.  That little one, I call her Josephine, I carried her a week.  But, she was a person.  John–I carried him thirteen weeks.  I felt him kick twice. I felt his life.  And then he was gone.  James–eighteen weeks!  We had our big ultrasound scheduled.  People could see my bump.  I was feeling him kick from the outside!  And then I felt him go.  Slowly.  “I heard he put up a good fight!” The priest said.  I believe he did. 

Every human life matters. 

From conception to natural death. 

I believe this. 

I believe women are shattered by abortion.  Broken.  Where are the pro-choice supporters then?  Where are they when the women sit alone, in darkness, in abject pain?  Where is their “ministry” then? 

Abortion is a disserve, an injustice to women.  To humanity.  It kills people, tiny people, and then walks away.  There is no help when that sweet mama has to deal with the aftermath.  The realization of what has happened. 

It must end.  Abortion must end.  We must realize what we are doing.  The wrong, the evil of killing a human life and shattering a mother. 

Every human life matters.  Every unborn child.  And also every broken mother. 

Speak up, people.  It’s time to end this evil.  End abortion. Save humanity.

John +
Josephine +
James +

One thought on “Why I March

  1. Thank you for this beautiful and vulnerable post. I just suffered my second miscarriage last week and am quite broken and grieving. I am a new army wife and fellow pro-life advocate. I just want you to know this post helped me heal a little more this morning.


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