Guest post: The mother bird and an abortion

The washing took the usual space of time to hang out on a beautiful, sunny, early spring day here in Melbourne. I didn’t even notice that the mother bird, who had been clucking and flitting about in the pittosporum trees next to the line these past weeks as she made her nest and tended her unhatched eggs, was not around. She wasn’t missing because I hadn’t missed her.

That is, until I walked across the deck to head inside. Turning around to close the door behind me, there she was. Full and in her prime. Motionless. Not mauled, but dead.

My immediate interpretation of the scene was, “That effing cat! Not again!” And then moments later, “Oh no. The babies…” What would become of them? Left to perish, if they were already alive. I didn’t want to imagine any further.

When I went inside, I discovered the following guest post submission in my inbox, along with a plea for some insight. I’m still working on that part with the author, but I was grateful to her for having the courage to come forth and give a voice to the anguish that she is now working through – in real-time – a voice that is not dissimilar to the one I encountered inside my own mind 17-18 years ago.

Later, on my daily walk, I realised I had already possibly falsely accused the cat for having some hand in the mother bird’s death (and, in turn, that of her young). But how did I know what had transpired? What twist of nature, what clause in the ending of the bird’s contract with its life? I am not privy to everything. Even if I think I know, even if I furnish my opinion with passion and all the injustices that are important to me and my morals… I don’t know it all.

I can’t point the finger at the cat. Even if the evidence was more obvious and I had actually seen her kill that mother bird with my own eyes, it is as it is. Whether I agree with it or not. And I am reminded of something I know only too well.

Not everything that is conceived will live on, whether it be a concept, an ideal, or a living thing…

 

So it is with this next story. It comes with a heads-up that you need to know a few things before you read on. Namely:

• Childlessness comes in many, many forms. Circumstances are as unique as the individuals who find themselves in that place.
• This blog space is open to pretty much any aspect of pregnancy/infant loss. That includes women with stories of pregnancy terminations, which deserve a voice as well. It’s a safe bet that there are more of us out there in this category than would be willing to own up to.

• As such, I do not allow my ego to become embroiled in the ” just/unjust” arguments in my own head, let alone out loud, for that is only my take on one aspect of any story shared.
• So, any condemnations and/or unsupportive comments on this anonymous post will be removed. There is a time and place for you to share your views/opinions on abortion, but… that time and place is not here. Mmkay?

Thank you.

“Judge nothing, you will be happy. Forgive everything, you will be happier. Love everything, you will be happiest.” ~Sri Chinmoy

 

I watched What to Expect When You’re Expecting tonight. I was expecting to laugh the entire time as I had heard it was very funny.

Within the first 20 minutes I was in tears. Eventually, I had to turn it off.

Out of nowhere, I was hit with a tonne of bricks. Big, massive emotional bricks that have knocked me for six. I didn’t even see them coming. I think that my grieving process has finally kicked in. Took a while – like, ten years – but it is finally here. And I don’t know where to begin.

A baby. I could have had a baby. It would have been nine in May. Except, here I am, sitting in my room at my parents’ house, almost 32 years of age and look at me. I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t go out, so the chances of meeting anyone soon are slim. In a little over three years I will be 35. And I know all too well the statistics that are included with that magical number, like a little surprise birthday gift from somebody you really hate hidden under your pillow.

Am I sad for the loss of the baby, or am I sad because if things keep going as they are, I will reach the age of 35 with nothing? Then after that, who knows what could happen, considering pretty much everyone in my social circle is either married or will be when we reach that age? If finding the right guy to date is difficult for me, imagine the trouble I will have when trying to find a life partner.

I have always wanted to be a mum. Unfortunately, when the opportunity came to me, I wasn’t ready for that challenge. I couldn’t bring a child into the world when I wasn’t financially stable or even in a stable relationship. I couldn’t deal with my own life or take care of myself, let alone another little human.

Even though I know it was the right decision, I still cry. I still think about it. I think about it all the time. I don’t feel sorry for myself for having to go through the procedure; I feel sorry for the loss of something that could have been the best thing that ever happened to me. I feel sorry for that nine week old embryo. I feel sorry that it was beginning to show features of development, even being the teeny tiny size it was. Until I came along and took life away from it.

Maybe this will be my punishment. Got one chance, and you blew it. So that is it for you. Am I being punished because I didn’t grieve after the abortion? Or the fact that keeping the baby never even entered my head? On the Sunday it was there… and by 10.30 am the following Saturday, it was gone. And that was it. I never talked about it again to anybody. I didn’t even tell my family. Maybe if I had told them, the outcome would have been different. Maybe the morning sickness which had just set in the week before I had the operation would have continued for longer, because my parents may have encouraged me to move forward with having it. I hate that I have to call it ‘it’. How fucking nice of me. I didn’t even give it a name.

I just want to say that I am sorry. I am sorry for not fighting for you, or even considering giving you a chance. I am sorry that I let you go, but I hope you understand why I did. Thank you, though, for giving me the opportunity to be your ‘mother’ for eight weeks. I am just so sorry.

 

Wildest Moments – Jessie Ware

You and I look like
We come together every time
Do wrongs, no rights
We lose ourselves at night

From the outside, from the outside
Everyone must be wondering why we try
Why do we try

Maybe in our wildest moments
We could be the greatest, we could be the greatest
Maybe in our wildest moments
We could be the worst of all
Maybe in our wildest moments
We could be the greatest, we could be the greatest
Maybe in our wildest moments
We could be the worst of all

Wait on, summer sky
Wherever there’s smoke, there should be fire
One prick, bad luck
I’ve been looking at you too much

From the outside, from the outside
Everyone must be wondering why we try
Why do we try

Maybe in our wildest moments
We could be the greatest, we could be the greatest
Maybe in our wildest moments
We could be the worst of all
Maybe in our wildest moments
We could be the greatest, we could be the greatest
Maybe in our wildest moments
We could be the worst of all

In the middle of it
We won’t, we won’t collide
Looking back on the set
Our wildest moments
Are you thinking what if
What if we ruined it all
My wrecking ball

From the outside, from the outside
Everyone must be wondering why we try
Why do we try

Maybe in our wildest moments
We could be the greatest, we could be the greatest
Maybe in our wildest moments
We could be the worst of all
Maybe in our wildest moments
We could be the greatest, we could be the greatest
Maybe in our wildest moments
We could be the worst of all

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