Here are the words straight from my journal about how we told our children the truth about our past and how I felt afterwards.
September 30, 2009
Yesterday was a hard day. But I forced myself to do whatever I had to do. I did my duties as my mind continued to replay the past, the memorial service, the break between [my husband] and I in this matter, and most of all about telling the kids. Finally, right before dinner time, I spoke quietly to [my husband] and said that unless he had any objections I wanted to speak to the kids that night. He looked surprised but said that he didn’t object. We ate dinner together as a family, and I told the kids we were having a family meeting after. I could barely eat.
So we all sat down in the living room and just the thought of beginning made me cry. I started to tell the kids I had some difficult things to say and asked [my husband] to pray first. Then I began…I began to tell a terrible story of selfishness, carelessness, and disobedience. Even as I spoke the truth, it seemed like a nightmare that it was actually happening. It seemed like I was having a most awful nightmare telling my children the terrible thing that I had done in the past. I did not give too many extra details, but said plenty. I gave them the many reasons for telling them. I told them of my unspeakable sorrow—that words cannot express. I also told them of God’s amazing grace in my life in spite of what I did. I showed them the figurine and candle holder and explained their meaning. I told them they were welcome to ask any further questions or say anything at all. I also read to them the lyrics of the song “Heal the Wound” and explained that it expressed my heart so well. I offered for them to read the letter to Grace Noel. [My daughter] was the only one to say anything at all, but she asked to see the letter. So I gave her my letter and [my husband’s] letter. She read those and the paper where I talk about the songs that meant the most to me during the past few weeks. I showed [my husband] the certificate “Acknowledgement of Life” that I was given with Grace’s name on it and our names as her parents. And then I announced to all that I had decided to get a tattoo in remembrance of Grace and what it was to be. The kids’ faces looking at [my husband’s] face cracked me up! It was a funny moment. I asked [my husband] if he wanted to say anything to the kids, and he spoke to them a little bit. After all was said and none of the kids seemed to want to say anything further, somehow the conversation turned into a spiritual discussion.
Sometime later, I went into my bedroom to put up the post abortive study folder with all my papers that I had taken out to living room earlier. [My daughter] came in and asked me how abortions were done. I explained to her that it depended on the age/size of the baby. I explained that mine would have simply been the doctor taking a scalpel and scraping in my uterus and then suctioning everything out. But I also explained to her about much older babies being killed in the womb first and then the mom giving birth to a dead baby. I told her about people who have survived the abortions and about the Gianna book. As I told her these things, the nightmare kept going. I told her how it was like a terrible nightmare that I was having to have such a conversation with her. She said she could leave (the room), and I said no that I didn’t want her to, that I did want her to ask anything. I cried more and she hugged me. I pulled out the little booklet we were given in the study group with the baby pictures at different stages in the womb. I showed her what Grace Noel would have looked like. She looked through the book. Then she got on this kick that she wanted me to adopt a girl. She was fervent about it too!! She wanted me to adopt a girl 10-14 years old to be her sister and friend. We kind of chatted about the fact that she should have had a sister. And then she had me get on the internet to look for orphanages in [in our state] and was also talking about the advertisement she had been hearing on the radio about people adopting orphan children. So we ended up at a website where you could see pictures and read profiles of children awaiting adoption. We looked for girls 9-14. She found one she really liked about her same age. She was begging me to adopt her. Finally, I said I had to go to bed. She went off with a picture of the girl and her profile information.
As I got in bed with [my husband], I was beside myself as to what had just taken place in our family. I had just shared with my children the most awful, most terrible thing I have ever done in my life. Would they still love me the same? Would they feel angry? Were they disgusted with what I had done? What is going on in their minds? What are they saying inside that they are not saying out loud? Are we going to be okay? Are they okay? The sadness continued to cover me, draping me like a thick blanket. Then I thought of how [my husband] did not even ask to read my letter to Grace. He’s never seen it either. And he didn’t ask to see it. That saddened me even more. A few more tears fell, and I had a very restless night with the awareness all night of the living nightmare of telling my children the truth.
I have awakened this morning, still quite sad and sober. I did get to hug [my daughter] as she was going through my room to brush her teeth before leaving for her childcare job that morning. She seemed in happy spirits, and I was very glad. I’m extra concerned about what is going through the boys’ minds, especially [my oldest].
God, help me through this day. Yesterday, I downloaded from I-Tunes the Heal the Wound song, played it over and over and over again, and posted it on my Facebook.
God, my Father…Christ, my Savior and Friend… TAKE me through this day, WALK me through this day.
October 1, 2009
Well, it’s the last formal post-abortion Bible study group meeting. Except for us getting together again later this month for a brunch. I have not answered one question of the last chapter we will be discussing today “Acceptance”.
It’s been such a hard week for me in all this. The memorial service was very powerful and affected me greatly and that doubled up with also telling the kids on Tuesday. So I had two very intense days and have had so much to write about and express in the mornings in my quiet time. I really haven’t made time or really wanted to do the last chapter yet. I feel like it is my time to grieve the loss of Grace Noel fully. It’s my time to grieve and mourn the loss of my child. I am in deep, deep sorrow over sacrificing her life and it’s ok to be sorrowful about affecting my children’s lives with this, but it was so important to me to tell them and quit hiding this truth that does affect them.
[My daughter] has been so sweet and compassionate. She has really taken to heart what I expressed about having been so sorrowful. She made me chuckle on Tuesday night when I told everyone I was going to get the tattoo. She was referring to my saying where I was going to have it placed [my lower abdomen area]. And she said, “But every time you go to the bathroom you’ll see it and start to cry.” And I said to her that I see it already all the time in my mind and heart anyway. Then yesterday, I was talking about a band-aid on my finger and she said, “Oh, I just thought of something. It’s kinda mean but it’s not…” I asked her to say it. She said that I needed a band-aid on my heart. :-) I smiled and said, “You know, I’ve had a band-aid on my heart for a very long time and now God’s had to pull it off so He can truly heal my hurt.”
I could tell yesterday she was trying to spend time with me and comfort me in her own ways. She is a comforter by God’s gift. So we had times together on the bed tickling each other’s ears with Q-tips and laying together. And she came in the kitchen when I was going to prepare the burgers and was tickling me.
Last night, she said, “Oh, I don’t mean to bring this up, but it’s not really bringing it up, but it is…” And I asked what. She explained that that morning at the church where she was doing the childcare someone had shown her a tiny baby footprint of a baby that only weighed 15 ounces. I found that to be part of [my daughter’s] journey in understanding and accepting the reality of all this. Someone showing her that tiny footprint right after what I had shared with all of them.
And yesterday, I had to leave the house and run grocery errands even though I was lethargic and sad. At the store, one of the workers who I’ve befriended started to strike up a conversation with me asking about my kids and if they were happy. I found that kind of odd. And like a poke in my wounds. Not that the poor man knew that. How could I answer his question? If he only had known that their mom had just dropped a terrible bomb on them the night before. I just shrugged my shoulders and said, “I hope so.” And he also asked me how many kids I had. The first thing flashing across my mind was the number 4, then 3, then thinking the words, “Well, I should have four, but only have three.” I merely answered him, “Three.” Anyway, that was a sad moment.
I’m looking forward to the group meeting this morning.
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