Call me a dreamer, but I have awoken with a belief that true human equality should begin when a human’s measurable life begins, at conception. We can build a society that no longer obligates and encourages medical professionals to wield instruments to inflict death within a woman’s womb, by extending legal protection to the preborn, the hidden people group. Call me a dreamer, but I look expectantly for the day when we seek to gather and acknowledge all the tears. They speak louder than all my words and dreams could dare to. The tears help us find the courage to heal, the courage to reach out to all trapped by the lie that abortion is a solution. I will not be content to abandon a single soul captive to abortion. Call me a dreamer, but I believe that we can, and we will, begin to build a pro-love society—one choice at a time.
How I got this, I don’t even know. I inspect the foreign object. Horror grips me as I see what is mounted on the other side of the plaque in my hands. A baby's body, Dry and lifeless. I am looking at the misshapen face of a tiny human I will never forget, One who never once saw the light of day. Frozen, grimacing in agony. The final moments of her short life are written on her closed eyes and furrowed brow, telling me a story of injustice. I am broken. My heart sinking. There is no escape.
To my dismay, the woman is taking her place on the table, spreading her legs open, putting her feet in the stirrups, tears trickling down her face. I feel the shame of her exposure. A strong urge to avert my eyes takes hold, yet I am unable to turn away, and powerless to stop this. The same shock and powerlessness is etched on her face. This is the moment of trauma, the one they failed to warn her of. The irreversible moment before her child’s life will end. Carefully choosing his words, the abortionist had offered no baby back guarantee.
I felt my heart stiffen for fear of the sacrifice I was called to. So hard it would have been to keep them alive. Disabled twins. No one to help me. I was strong, but not that strong. In my hand I held an axe. I knew what it was for. The axe flashed brightly before me like a savior, Blinding me in my desperation. I knew what must be done. I must make a different kind of sacrifice.
The Axe. The Window. The Board. Three Dreams Three Poems Three Ponderings Part 1 of Dream Series by Melissa Yeomans Illustrations by Amy Sun Hee(Complete eBook Available) Introduction Enter Come with me into my dreams To see and touch forbidden things, To look beyond the cold brick wall. The cries though muffled, beckon, call. Remember … Continue reading Dreaming About Abortion Dream Series (Part 1)
The three dreams that make up The Axe. The Window. The Board. were different. Over the course of my fourth pregnancy, carrying my daughter Lily, I had all three. They shocked me to silence. I didn't know what to do with them. I felt they were significant but I also felt a weight of shame that I had even dreamed them. I knew they fit together, but I didn't see how. I couldn't forget them. I pondered these dreams and wrote them down. Years were spent pondering and praying, then, pondering and praying about these dreams some more. I couldn't let them go because as you read you will see that there is much more reality to them than fiction.