Early August 1998

We had a beautiful suite with a separate bedroom and a kitchenette off the full-size living room. From the moment we walked in, I felt the presence of God, and I began to realize that something truly supernatural was in store for me that night.

Because I knew it would be an emotional time, I went to the bathroom, took my contacts out, and washed my face. While I was putting my pajamas on, Chris and Jolene prepared the living room. They placed boxes of tissues in various spots around the room, and they decorated one of the tables with a white linen tablecloth with lace trim.

“We want to anoint you with oil and pray before we begin,” one of them said. They prayed and asked God to reveal whatever memories I needed for my healing. That’s an important part of post-abortion ministry, because you immediately start blocking out the memories of that event. It’s a defense mechanism. You couldn’t live with what you did if you had to face it, so you suppress the memories and bury the details so deep in the recesses of your mind that you’re able to live in complete denial of what you’ve done.

After we prayed, Chris and Jolene asked me to start telling what I remembered about my abortions. “The first one was in May 1975,” I said. “That’s the only one I can even tell you the exact month and year.” I told the story of being pregnant before I married Jesse and choosing him over the baby.

“The second abortion was in 1976,” I said. “I don’t remember the actual abortion; I just remember coming home to our apartment and lying on the loveseat-rocker all day. Jesse asked me, ‘Are you okay?’ and I remember looking up at him and thinking, Now you ask. I just killed my own baby—our baby— something I really wanted and you’re asking if I’m okay. But I didn’t say it.

“There were always two reasons for the abortions. One was that Jesse didn’t want to have kids yet. ‘Someday,’ he’d always say. The other reason was drugs. I’d seen films in health class about babies who were born addicted to drugs, and it horrified me. We were so into drugs—cocaine and LSD, and even PCP, an animal tranquilizer that produced a cheap but intense high. The one time I thought I was going to die from drugs was the time I did PCP, around the time of that second abortion.

“My brother Mark and a friend brought the PCP over to our apartment; Mark had wanted to turn me and Jesse on for a change, since we were always sharing our drugs with him. Mark laced a joint with the PCP, and the four of us smoked, it. The drug makes you so high, you’re numb for hours; you can’t feel anything. It was wintertime and raining, but I remember going outside and letting the rain pour down on me. I couldn’t feel the cold or the rain. I started getting really scared. I went back inside and sat on that rocking loveseat for twelve hours without moving. I was virtually paralyzed. Jesse was sitting next to me, watching an old rerun of The Honeymooners. I started crying, becoming almost hysterical. ‘I’m going to die,’ I told him. ‘I’m not making it this time.’ He tried to talk me through the high, ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be fine,’ he said. But he later told me he had thought we were both going to die. At one point I cried out, ‘God if you’re real, please spare me from this, and I’ll never do it again.’ That was one promise I made good on; I never used PCP again.”

I paused to take a sip of water. Jolene and Chris encouraged me to take my time and tell it all.

…..more to come.