I have found my writing voice again. It's a voice that is hidden most days because of demands of work and life and grand-parenting and taking care of my almost 92 year-old mother. I am the author of three blogs and they have become my on-again off-again hobby– a place where I go to feed my soul because of the stories I have to tell. Stories are important- they raise awareness, they build community and human connection, they foster compassion and empathy and most importantly, they inspire.
Therefore, in response to the unproven allegations and inaccurate statistics about Planned Parenthood and the diatribe being exchanged about what a woman does about a pregnancy, I am responding to Lena Dunham's request about asking your mother about abortion before Roe v Wade. My writing voice is back; albeit through my 92-year old mother's story, because I did ask her about abortion before Roe v Wade and this is what she told me.
When I was in my early twenties, I was in love with a man
named Jack. I dated him for about three
years. I thought I would end up marrying
him. He didn’t make a great
living. He kept on putting off getting
married, using the excuse that there wasn’t enough money. He did tell me that he loved me though. And he would say, “If I marry anyone, it
would be you.”
And then I met Jack’s mother. She was a European immigrant, like my
parents. The meeting didn’t go
well. It was clear to me that she just
didn’t want any part of me. Soon after
that Jack told me he was going out of town on a job. He said he would see me when he came
back. At least a month went by and I didn’t hear
from him. Finally, my sister in law,
Ruth, who knew his family, told me that Jack had met someone and gotten
married. I was devastated.
I ended up going to work during the week and staying home
every weekend, depressed, feeling unloved.
I thought I would never find anybody because of my looks. You see, when I was a little girl I got
teased a lot about my crooked teeth and my chin. Even playing “spin the bottle” with my friends,
there was a boy who refused to kiss me on the mouth. I always felt that I was not beautiful. Having an older sister, who was adored for
her beauty, made me feel even less beautiful.
I wasn’t jealous of her; I just felt that I was the ugly sister. After Jack left me without so much as an
explanation, I needed to make a change.
I went to a plastic surgeon, who happened to be my sister in law Ruth’s
friend, and got my chin and my nose fixed.
I felt better about myself and wanted to try again to find someone to
love me.
My family was always telling me to go out. They would say, “How are you going to meet
anybody if you stay home?” So I started
to go to dances, first with my friends and then by myself. I met guys but most of them were
Christian. I was afraid my parents would
disown me if I married out of my religion.
Then I met someone who happened to be Jewish. It’s so many years ago, I can’t remember his
name. I told him the story about
Jack. I wanted him to know because I
didn’t want to get hurt again.
The nameless man and I started to date. He told me how much he loved me. He even said once that I would make a
wonderful wife. I fell in love with him
too. I started to feel happy again. I had not slept with him yet, though. I slept with Jack and that got me nowhere, so
I wanted to protect my heart. However, he
asked me to go away with him. He had a
friend with a cabin in the country. It
would be romantic. I told my parents
that I was going away with some girlfriends.
We had a wonderful weekend. I let
him make love to me because I trusted him.
I didn’t have any protection; I thought it was up to the man to use
protection. Jack had always used it.
Soon after our romantic weekend I missed a period. I was afraid that I was pregnant. I thought that when I told him, that he would
say, “Okay, we’ll get married.” After
all, he did tell me he loved me. But
that wasn’t the response I got. Instead, he said
to me, “How do I know that it’s mine? It
could be Jack’s child.” I kept telling him
that was impossible, that it was definitely his, but he was insistent. Not only did I feel horrible then, but more
shocked than when Jack had left me.
He did take me to a doctor he knew, but I paid for it. It was confirmed that I was pregnant. He didn’t give a damn; he just wanted me to
abort it. I felt awful. I wanted this baby; I even started to love
it. I didn’t know what to do and I was
all alone. I turned to my mother and she
said, “Get rid of it.” She showed no
compassion for me. She didn’t want any
part of it or me. I was so ashamed.
I told my older sister about it. She stood up for me; she was so angry at
him. She called him and cursed him and
told him he should have an accident with his car. She wanted me to give the baby up for
adoption. She even offered to raise it
herself with her two children, even though she didn’t want any more children. I couldn’t do that; I couldn’t give my baby
away.
I felt that this baby was a part of me. But I also knew I couldn’t have it and raise
it on my own. Not in the 1940s. It was right after the war ended. Times were still tough. I knew my mother would throw me out. And I knew that finding someone to marry me
with a child born out of wedlock would be impossible.
So the nameless man, or I should just call him “the bastard”
took me back to the same doctor who confirmed the pregnancy to give me an
abortion. Again, I paid for it--with all the savings I
had. I was at least lucky that he was a doctor and was kind to me. I
heard stories of woman who had gotten abortions by people who were not
doctors and they became very sick or even died.
But it was not something that anyone talked about openly. Women were not supposed to have sex before
they were married. I remember the bastard
even said to me after I got pregnant that when a woman has sex she remains
“dirty” but a man can wash himself off.
The day of the
abortion, the bastard picked me up and drove me home. I don’t remember if it was a weekday or
weekend. I remember feeling so sorry
that I ever let any man touch me. I was
very much ashamed of myself and so guilty that I had to do this. I think about it all the time. I think about my baby and how old it would
be. This was not an easy choice.
There was no one else in the doctor’s office at the
time. I was all by myself when the
doctor did the procedure. I remember him
being very gentle. At the end, he told
me “It was not a boy or girl. It was just in the beginning.” I believe he wanted to comfort me. I was very grateful for that but it was still
hard. Afterwards, I bled, but I was
fine. The bastard called me to find out
how I was. I said to him, “Why? Do you
care?” and I hung up.
If a woman gets into trouble and she can’t take care of that
baby, I think it’s up to the woman to take the responsibility for choosing what
to do. When abortion was legalized I
was very happy about it because there are a lot of bastards out there.
She's one heck of a woman, my mom. Despite being visually and hearing impaired, she's quite spunky and has a lot to say. I asked for her permission to share this because, again, women's rights might be in danger. So she agreed to it, in honor of her three daughters, her sister, her three granddaughters, her many nieces and great nieces and her one great granddaughter. After all, this is a blog about generations and the older generations need to share their experiences to educate and inform the younger ones. Let the mistakes of the past be something we learn from and not return to.
