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On the morning of the abortion, I was overcome by the sickening feeling that had made itself home to me ever since she found out she was pregnant and began wrestling with what to do about it. It was a toxic mixture of despair, regret, anger, helplessness, powerlessness, and an overwhelming feeling that something utterly tragic was about to happen. Sure enough, when she called a few hours later and told me that "it was done," I felt the impact of the loss with the force of an asteroid slamming into the Earth.
For the next 3 days, I had no interest in eating, drinking, or living. For the next several weeks, even months, I could not function at a "normal" level. On the outside I seemed okay, but on the inside I was reliving the horror of what that child went through over and over again. Bouts of uncontrollable weeping would still come over me; I was grieving not only for my lost child, but for millions upon millions that are lost to abortion every year around the world.
Nearly six years later, I think everyday what my child would look like now, what laughter would be filling my ears, and what miraculous little moments I would be witnessing, if only. So, despite the criticisms and intimidations from the pro-abortion crowd, I just go forward. I go forward with my pro life work. Work that gives dignity and meaning to the life of my child and, hopefully, to the lives of all of those sacrificed on the alter of "choice."