Seventeen

 Seventeen years of loving you. 

Seventeen years of missing you. 

Seventeen years since I have been the same. 

After 17 years, I feel like it is time to share for my sweet Emma Jean. She doesn’t get the chance to speak her truth, so today in her memory, I will speak it for her. As much as I love to share Emma, I don’t share this part of her story. 

It’s something I have held in my heart with such regret it eats at me. A few people know, but I’m not sure how much even those few really know. 

There is a word I don’t even want to say out loud because it brings me such pain. 

Words I have used 

Wanted, loved, cherished, desired…. These are ways I want to remember my daughter.  Aborted is not a word I ever want to use. In the medical community they call it inducing. I induced with my sweet Emma, only to find out later I aborted her. In the midst of my shock and grief I never thought of what we went through as anything as terrible as an abortion. I induced for her comfort, for my safety, for the health of myself to survive a pregnancy I was scared to continue. 

At least that’s what I was told.  

Beside myself with fear, I prayed for answers. Induction seemed like the best choice for our family. If only I had realized my Aunt’s concerns about induction were so much more than I knew. If only we had known - as the insurance paperwork would report, Abortion was the reality. 

I hate seeing on the news and social media stories of 

All of the women out there shouting their abortion. Bragging about the baby they are pregnant with not being human. Protesting their right to kill their child. Most without any adverse diagnosis. I imagine many have never even been pregnant, never having been given a diagnosis incompatible with life. Most of the women shouting don’t have a clue.

How many of them have sat in a room with unimaginable grief? 

How many that spout off about women’s reproductive rights have felt the pain of loss ?

The pain of your body no longer being pregnant. 

Not understanding that the abortion means your mind knows the baby is gone and your body continues to make milk and believe it is sustaining life. 

How many have felt the absolute despair of grieving a baby you know would not have lived, but you question yourself every fucking day not knowing if you’ve made the right decision?

My body, my choice- but not with out the consequences. 

Pain

Grief

PTSD

Regret

Uncertainty

It has been 17 years today. 

Every single day I wonder who she would have been. 

Every single day I wonder how life would be if I had the knowledge I learned with Connor and the fight in me to advocate for my pregnancy. 

Every single day I wonder how I could have been so naive and stupid to not know Induction and abortion were the same. 

I never held my baby girl in my arms. 

 I will never see her face. 

On her birthday I grieve differently than on Connor’s birthday. 

Emma gave me the gift of becoming an advocate for all of my kids. 

She made me a fighter. 

She helped me question doctors, ask for second opinions and to keep pushing and 

to never 

back down. 

Having a diagnosis incompatible with life is devastating. 

Being told it will be easier to end the pain now is “normal” medical advice. 

Such a lie. 

Grief is life long. 

Shortening the time you spend with your child does not help anything. 

It brings regret, what ifs and pain beyond normal grief. 

Every second you are given with your child, in utero or on this Earth, take it. 

If you were told your living child had months to live, would you stop caring for them? 

If it seems I am passionate about this it is because I deal with the grief every single day. 

I have only ever felt support from my family and friends.

I have never had anyone question me on any part of her life and death. 

But, that doesn’t change the fact that I have always questioned myself. 

Years ago I vowed to forgive myself. To let go of the pain of regret. 

Most days I don’t feel the sting and as time goes on I feel the sadness less and less. 

But, days like today bring me back to the moments of grief so far from reason. 

So Far from healing, that I am back in those moments of pain and regret. 

I question myself. I question each step that lead to her loss. 

Because of my sweet infant daughter. Given a death sentence regardless. A life unsustainable outside of my womb. 

This tiny baby who made me question everything I had ever known. 

Because of my sweet innocent daughter. 

Because of Emma. 

I changed. 

I had the honor and privilege of carrying Emma’s brother to term. 

I had the strength to fight to carry to term. To research and to have more information and faith in myself than a doctor could knock down. 

Her life and death formed a version of myself I am proud to be. 

I am not afraid to stand up for what I believe in. 

 I am who I am today because of Emma. 

On her birthday I hope to honor her with the truth of her story. 

How she was owed so much more in this life than she was given. 

How she will always be cherished, loved, hoped for and wanted. 

Emma Jean, Happy 17 💗