A Sense of Perspective

The issue of access to abortion is a wildly inflammatory one, and I do not presume to offer any answer here. I don't think there is — or can be — a single, one-size-fits-all solution. It does seem that the loudest, most strident voices are taken as authoritative, yet for some women abortion was not the “easy, convenient” procedure they were led to expect, but an action that caused them lasting regret and sorrow. I believe that those voices must be a part of any consideration of the issue, not discounted or ignored.

Whether carrying the child to term would have been a better choice or a worse one, whether their lives would have been richer or poorer, we cannot know. What is certain is that, for many women, abortion is not just a "simple solution" to a "problem," but a life-changing, heart-breaking event. I have sought to communicate some sense of their experiences in this poem.

A Special Thank You

A special thank-you to the women who have shared their stories; I am deeply humbled and inexpressibly grateful for your trust and your honesty. I hope that, in some small way, this carries forth your truth and brings a measure of understanding, and peace.


For All women

Those who have never had to face this choice (or demand — as it can be) should count ourselves blessed; it can be an unimaginable weight on the soul. This freeing option is due, in large part, to access to safe and effective contraception, which I consider an essential component both to women’s health care and to family security and stability.

Photo of a flower

The Choice by Deborah Beach Giordano

At the time it seemed right;
safe, easy, painless:
You won’t feel a thing;
a routine procedure
in and out
and on your way
as if it never happened;

removed from your body,
erased from your life;
no mess, no fuss,
cleared away,
gone and forgotten
as if it never happened.

Their words were true:
you felt nothing —
no-thing,
a certain not-ness
where something
had nestled
before.

Nothing to worry about;
dinner and a movie
will take your mind off
it;
it
a nonentity
a nameless
no thing.

Later
a little spotting,
small drops,
perhaps;
minor discomfort;
nothing
to worry about;
no thing.

Their words were true:
small drops
shed in secret,
wiped off,
cleared away:
it’s nothing
no thing
anyone could see.

A note from a knowing friend:
Congratulations!
You did it!
It is over!
Done.
Finished.
Gone.
A smile,
a wink,
mission accomplished.

Sick
dry,
choking
nothing comes up
no thing;
an empty belly;

a secret grief,
unspoken sadness.

The silent scream
is yours.

Days,
weeks,
months,
years;
living
with
it:

the nameless
no thing,
that is
gone
and everywhere
present;
taken
from your womb,
carried
in your heart.

Held fast in your memory,
as near as your breath,
embraced in your dreams,
neither dead
nor sleeping —
alive in your love,
cradled in the arms
of God.

You did not know,
you could not know;
and those who “knew”
chose
not to tell;
repeating
the comfortable,
reassuring
mantra:
You won’t feel a thing;
in and out
and on your way
as if it never happened.

You did not know,
you could not know
the loss,
the longing,
the regret,
the flares
of anguish
and doubt.

Delivered
into the light:
the healing
surrender:
confessing
the confusion and sorrow,
the fear and ignorance,
the innocence lost,
the wisdom gained.

The truth revealed
the weight lifted
the burden relieved:
no longer
hidden,
denied,
dismissed,
nor shamed.

Cleansing tears.

Forgiveness.

Peace.

No anger,
no scorn,
no reproach;
compassion
and tenderness;
recognition
of the deep yearning
for a meeting
long delayed.

Peace —
not as the world gives —
not in artifice or lies,
but in hope and expectation,
healed and redeemed
in divine mercy:

all fears acknowledged
all pain confessed,
all that is broken
knitted together
in love’s enduring power
and God’s great tenderness.