According to an article released on in 2009, since 1980, 1.12 billion babies have been aborted worldwide.  That averages out to about 40 million children lost per year, or one life aborted per second.

 "There simply isn't anything close," said Stephen Phelan of Human Life International.  "Over the many years since this has become a practice, even legalized in many countries, you're over a billion."

"There's definitely nothing to compare. The closest thing you'd get to it would be the atheist, socialist dictators of the 20th century; and even they, in their gruesome efficiency, were only able to kill somewhere between a hundred and a hundred-seventy million people. ... There's no comparison."

Just think of all of the people that are missing today in the world!  1.12 billion people is a country, a civilization!  Close your eyes and open them again—in that brief darkness you experienced, one life was extinguished before it even knew what life was.

The following letter, written by 17-year-old aspiring novelist Grace Ducanis, is written from the perspective of a 25-year-old woman who receives a letter in the mail informing her that her mother has changed her mind (25 years ago!) and is going to abort her tomorrow.

Dear Mother,

            I know you don’t really know me. At least, you don’t know me yet.
            But I know you.

            To you, I’m only the faint bluish outline of a body on the ultrasound screen. I’m only a soft thump against the inside of your stomach. I’m the cause of the sickness you feel in the morning, of the numbers rising on the scale each time you step on it. Because of me, you can’t keep your hands off dessert anymore. These are all small things, though. They are the physical things that will soon fade, no matter what you decide to do today.
            There are worse things that my conception has brought.
            You loved him. You believed him when he looked into your eyes and said that he loved you too. You didn't really think about the future. You had abstract ideas about what you wanted the future to look like, but you never dwelt on it long enough to realize that you were creating it now. You couldn't see past his strong, youthful body and his romantic words. You couldn't see where you were going. Then you felt your body change and the future was suddenly very imminent.

            As soon as you told him that I was coming, he left you. He didn't even wait around to see whether or not you would abort me. It didn't matter to him. He didn't want you anymore. He even said so.

            You went home. They didn't want you either, but this was worse, because they wouldn't tell you that. It was painful. The side glances they threw at your stomach to see if it was getting any bigger. The way they said your name, like you were a person they didn't know anymore. Your family didn't tell you what to do, though you knew they had a very clear opinion on the matter. You almost wanted them to tell you what to do, but they insisted that you were an independent woman who was capable of making her own decisions. So you left home to find your decision.

            How do I know all this? Because you told me.
            Now, let me tell you who I am.

            Twenty-five years from now, you will be gone. You died of breast cancer when I was fourteen. I cried for a long time and I never forgot all the things you had told me about the life you had before I came.

            Your parents adopted me because they thought it was their “Christian responsibility,” but I knew they didn't really love me, just like they didn't really love you. They had given you the decision, but they weren't ready to accept the consequences of your choice. In the end, they also had been hoping that I would just go away. So that is what I tried to do. I got a job in high school and worked at a local diner until I had enough money to get out of the house.

            Yet no matter how hard I worked, things never seemed to get any better. I had dreams. I wanted to go to college, get a science degree and do medical research at an upscale facility. I wanted to help people, not just get them coffee and give them a welcoming smile. But the longer I brought coffee, smiled, took orders, wiped tables and seated customers, the farther away my dream seemed.

            Then I met a guy and life got a little brighter. We dated for a while, long enough for me to think he might be serious, and he was. Then he got drunk one night and crashed his car. He died on the way to the hospital.

            Three months ago I was fired from the diner, not because I had done something wrong, but because they simply couldn't afford to pay me anymore. I looked for a job, but no one wanted to hire me. The landlord is kicking me out tomorrow. This morning, I was packing up my clothes when I received your letter.

            So my life hasn't been great, but as long as I’m alive, I have a future. Even if there’s only one hour left in it, it’s still a future. And who knows? Perhaps something truly miraculous will happen in that hour. Maybe I’ll make someone laugh. Maybe I’ll fall in love. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally understand who God really is. And though it’s foolish, it keeps me hoping. It’s still my life. It’s still my future.

            They’re going to tell you that it’s your decision. Your body, your choice. They’re lying. This isn't like getting a tooth pulled or even cutting off your arm. This is like killing me. It is killing me.

            Yes, you are young. Yes, you've done stupid things. Yes, you’re confused and hurt and angry at the whole world because the man you loved is lower than dirt and fell for it. Yes, your parents can’t look at your face anymore and people whisper when they see you walk by and all you feel is shame, all the time.

            But this is not just about you.

            It’s about me too. In fact, it’s more about me than about you, because whatever you decide, you’ll probably survive it, at least until you truly have no choice. I can’t. How dare you? How dare you think that just because I've made your life difficult you can extinguish mine? How dare you take my life from me just because I can’t tell you what I want?

            Well, I’m telling you now. I want to live.

Your Daughter

1 comment:

  1. Wow, that was a stunning story. Is that your life story?
    Do contact us, we would like to know more.