As we grow and mature, we as parents hope and pray, that by the grace of God, our children will not make the same mistakes we made.

At 37, I should have known better. After all, wasn't I once the one to accompany a friend to a clinic? Now here I sat, terrified to leave a building where I would be confronted with pictures and posters of what I was about to condemn my little one to. And me - a loving mother of two, with two stepchildren - couldn't I make room in my heart for just one more?

How did this happen? Wasn't I paying attention? Isn't this what we caution our adolescent daughters and sons about? "Wait till you're married." (We were going to be married in two months.) "Make sure you love him." (I do love him. And his children. Sometimes, I love his children more than him!) "Be responsible." (Looking back, I am responsible. For everything.)

When I looked at the blue line on the home pregnancy test, my heart soared and sunk at the same time. My soon-to-be-husband made it all too clear from the get-go that there would be no children. After all, he had raised his children single-handedly. It would be difficult enough blending our two families, and quite a financial strain as it was - all four will be in college at the same time.....but I was so happy!! Maybe he would love this child. This baby who would be born as a result of our love.

He must have known, because when I came downstairs, he said, "You better not tell me that you're pregnant!", and proceeded to storm around the house and yell and scream about how unfair life was to him. What about me? What about our baby?

I knew, or thought I knew, what I had to do. I needed to be alone. I jumped on my bike and rode off to the school ground. It was a warm, sunny, September afternoon. As I rode through the fields of clover, tears streaming down my face, I cried silently to my baby, apologizing to her for what I was going to do. I looked down, and by my front tire was a beautiful Monarch butterfly with vibrant orange and black patterns across her delicate wings. The butterfly rose and flew around my bike, circling higher and higher, and I followed her up to the sky with tearful eyes, watching it disappear against the deep, blue sky.

"I know where you're going. You're going home. You are my baby, and you are going to Heaven. I'm sorry that I'm sending you there so soon. It isn't your time yet. You have puppies to play with, and merry-go-rounds to ride, balloons to chase, and spelling quizzes to take. You deserve a chance, but I can't bring you into a life where I know your dad doesn't want you. I know what it's like to feel unwanted. I can't do that to you. I'm so sorry."

The next few weeks were a blur of tears, and appointments, ("We'll see you on Tuesday morning. Bring your insurance card, and don't eat anything.")....sonograms ("See that flickering? That's your baby's heart.").... and misinformation ("I think Depo-Provera will work nicely on you. After all, we don't want this to happen again.!"...... "There are many Catholics who think abortion is an acceptable practice. Here's a pamphlet written by Pro-Choice Catholics!!).....and of course, the biggest piece of misinformation ("You might feel a little blue for a couple of days.")

Three years later, I'm still waiting to feel the warmth of the sun again. I think about Jenny - my butterfly - whose heart I watched flickering on that screen. The heart that I stopped. Because I couldn't accept responsibility for my actions. Because I couldn't stand up to the man I loved and say, "We both have rights. This is what I want. I want our baby."

When someone tells you that you have a choice, they are correct. Where they err, is in telling you that choosing to end a life is one of your choices.