An abortion is a very traumatic thing for every woman who does it, and that I can tell from my own experience, although I did not have it myself.
About a year ago a very good friend of mine called me crying and told me that she just found out she got pregnant. My first question was "when are you going to do the abortion?" This question was so obvious to me, that I did not pay too much attention to it. My friend on the other hand felt so bad when I asked her this question that I could barely put in any more words..
After she calmed down a little, we started talking more deeply. I found out that although she did not plan it, she wanted to keep the baby. She told me that she really wanted to have the baby, regardless the fact that she wasn't in a serious relation at the time. I, on the other hand, thought differently. I told her that in my opinion it would be selfish of her to have the baby as a single mother, especially when she wasn't sure where her life was going to. In my opinion, someone who wants to have a baby should do anything he or she can in order to bring the child into a stable environment as possible; this means to have both mother and father in a stable relationship with the ability to support the infant. Since she wasn't in this position, I thought it would be a mistake to keep the embryo. After she had many discussions with me, with the future-to-be-father, and with some other close friends, she decided to do an abortion, although she didn't feel 100% sure about it.
Right after she did the abortion, she told me she felt like she lost her lived child. She took it so bad that she got into a big depression for the three following months after. The whole situation was very hard for her, and although she got over it eventually, today she regrets she did the abortion. She keeps on telling me that she should have kept the embryo. In spite of her feelings, I still think she did the right thing, and I’m happy for her because I saw many cases already of a single-mothers did not considered what best for their child’s, but what was good for themselves, when they decided to bring a child all by themselves.
Poetry
The Mother
by Gwendolyn Brooks
Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers that never handled the air.
You will never neglect or beat
Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.
You will never wind up the sucking-thumb
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,
Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.
I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed
children.
I have contracted. I have eased
My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.
I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized
Your luck
And your lives from your unfinished reach,
If I stole your births and your names,
Your straight baby tears and your games,
Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches,
and your deaths,
If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,
Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.
Though why should I whine,
Whine that the crime was other than mine?--
Since anyhow you are dead.
Or rather, or instead,
You were never made.
But that too, I am afraid,
Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?
You were born, you had body, you died.
It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.
Believe me, I loved you all.
Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you
All.
From A Street in Bronzeville by Gwendolyn Brooks, published by Harper & Brothers. © 1945 by Gwendolyn Brooks. Used with permission. All rights reserved
Alone
by Maya Angelou
Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don't believe I'm wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
There are some millionaires
With money they can't use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They've got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
'Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Destiny
by Rosario Castellanos
Destiny
We kill what we love. What’s left
Was never alive.
No one else is close. What is forgotten,
What else is absent or less, hurts no one else.
We kill what we love. Enough of drawing a choked breath
Through someone else’s lung!
There is not air enough for both of us. And the earth will not hold
Both our bodies
And our ration of hope is small
And pain cannot be shared.
Man is an animal of solitudes,
A deer that bleeds as it flees
With an arrow in its side.
Ah, but hatred with its insomniac
Glass eyes; its attitude
Of menace and repose.
The deer goes to drink and a tiger
Is reflected in the water.
The deer drinks the water and the image. And becomes
-before he is devoured – (accomplice, fascinated)
his enemy.
We give life only to what we hate.
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