It is a windy day in October. As the strong whirlwinds force the leaves into a spin, so go my emotions. A deep longing and emptiness invades my soul. I suffer. Pain from a non-healing wound clutches my abdomen and I tremble. "There is no medical cause for your pain, Ms. Allen," I hear the Doctor say. Still the pain is there, severe, crushing.

Everything stops. The ability to perform normal daily tasks is far from my grasp. My job suffers, my son feels the isolation, and my family is bewildered. As I put on my best act at being "OK", I drive to see my father. I need a human to help me feel normal. I drive by the cemetery and want to turn in. No, I will not be dramatic.

After I leave my father's house, I decide buying something that will make me feel normal. I drive towards the store, but am drawn to the cemetery. I finally stop fighting and pull in the drive.

The feeling I am greeted with is impossible to describe. I feel at home with the lonely emptiness of death. I drive to the baby section and get out of my car. I read the markers honoring the beloved children who have been stolen by death. The parents have placed toys, angels and pictures on these graves. These children are still a part of their lives.

The markers bearing half-hearted comforting messages such as..."Budded on earth, blooming in heaven", "Our little angel", "God's little lamb", leave me hopeless.

I have children to mourn. I have babies that deserve honor. I want to kneel at the foot of another grave and pretend it is my lost children's, but it does not seem right. My children deserve honor. My children deserve recognition. I need to have a place to kneel, cry, regret, and dream. I need to be able to place things that my children would like on their grave.

I would put pom poms on Casey's. I would put a football on Nicholas's. Jesus, I know the children are with you. I know they are growing and happy. But everyone grieves, don't they? Why do I feel stupid feeling this way when others mourn their children who have been stolen by death? Maybe because I am responsible for their deaths?

Lord, I do not want to be over dramatic, but I know those are your children. You created them to be born. You have celebrated their life and I want to also.

If I had my choice, I would put the following on the grave marker of my children:

Jesus, help me to realize and accept your forgiveness. Thank you for loving me.

Post Script: I was able to place a marker with those words on it the cemetery. Since then, not far from my children’s marker, a marker was placed bearing my father’s name. While he was dying, I asked him one favor: Dad, when you get to heaven, will you find my children and tell them I love them and give them a hug for me? This man, who had struggled with guilt over the decisions I made to abort, responded in a weak, barely audible, but forceful voice, First thing! I thank Jesus for His incredible grace and for all the second chances he gives. I know that someday soon we will all be together.

MY CHILDREN

I have been feeling as if there is a key. A key to open the door of abolishment of abortion. That is, "legal abortion". The feeling persists. I thought, maybe it is in research. Maybe education. Maybe legal strategies. I prayed to the Lord to show me the key. I told my three-year-old nephew Jacob, "I feel like the Lord wants to tell me something but I don't know what it is. Jacob replied, “Well, just go to Jesus and ask him what He wants to tell you!” I was glad I sought his advice.

So, I went before the throne. The Lord told me the answer was inside of me. It was not statistics, research, and education. It was the sharing of my story. The realistic story of my life experiences of abortion and the health problems and scars it left. I had two children aborted. I have never really thought of them as children until today.

Today for the first time, I gave my children the names I had hidden in my heart for years. My first child is a little girl with beautiful big blue eyes, dark skin and golden blonde curls. She would be 15 years old today. Her name is Casey. She would have been bubbly, hopeful and ready for any challenge. She would have made me smile even through the worst of times. Her smile lights up a secret room in my heart. One I did not even know was there.

My son would be close to 12 years old now. He looks a lot like me, although he has curly brown hair with golden highlights. His name is Nicholas Randall. He would be the strong silent type. Pretty shy, but sensitive to everyone's feelings. He was to be a great warrior of the Lord. I rock him in a wooden rocking chair in a secret room in my heart.

Both would have been born in the spring. Both died in the fall.

This week I sent their little brother to school. He went into the first grade. I realized that my days of being a mother to little pre-schoolers were over. I realized that one day my son Nicholas Joseph would marry and have a family of his own. I realized that I would have only one child to give me grandchildren. One child to bring his family to my house on holidays. One child.

There should have been three. Nick should have the privilege of being a little brother. Casey should have the thrill as I did of being a cheerleader. Nicholas Randall should have had the opportunity to be a big brother and lead a bible study at his school. At least play football with his cousins.

What do I do with all of this? How do I cope? How do I get through all this? I know I will never get over it.

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, all fear is gone. And, because I know He holds tomorrow, then I can face another day because Christ lives. Thank you Lord for helping me to remember my children. Thank you for helping me remember the names I already had picked out for them. Help me to grieve in a healthy way and to help others see that you are willing to introduce them to their children they never met. Help me to recognize the emotional habits I fall into unknowingly correlated to the abortions. Help me to forgive. Help me to love. Show me what you want me to do.