By Fr James McCaslin SSC

I’m a Catholic priest. I love you. I see you from time to time in the hospital where you have gone for an abortion, not because you are selfish or bad, but because you are pregnant, afraid and unsure. “I have no other choice.”

When I have heard your story of poverty, of a family of three or four at home in the Philippines, of temptation and loneliness, I cannot say that I approve of what you are doing but do feel compassion and understanding a little what brought you to this desperate point.

Although I’ve never met any of you who did not think that she killed her own baby, some of you had been to a doctor or a local clinic where you were convinced to think and say that you were “terminating a pregnancy”, not killing a baby, your very own baby at that.

But you knew better. Oh yes, you knew better. That’s why the last person you wanted to see and talk to was a Catholic priest. Or, for some of you, the one person you needed to talk to. I’ve been reading an eight-page Prolife Messenger in which I saw the following anguished letter of a mother to her aborted child:

Ten years ago yesterday, I carried you beneath my heart. Ten years ago today, I stopped the beating of your heart. I, your mother, the one who gave you life, also gave you death.

It’s been a decade and still my blood runs cold and I catch my breath whenever I hear the word “abortion”. There’s an emptiness inside of me that can never be filled, a chill that has never been warmed, a grief that will never end. To me you will forever remain an unfinished song, a flower that never bloomed. Even during your last fragile moments of life, I wondered, “Is my baby a boy or a girl?” The question ran through my mind again and again as I tried to block out the sickening sounds of you being sucked from my womb and my life... I simply nodded in defeat and sadness as this man in white patted my trembling hand and said, “Now aren’t you glad it’s all over?”

As I lay there... I could hear the nurses chattering about co-workers, new cars and clothes. To them the extermination of your life was simply a job... To me it was the darkest day I had ever known. “The Abortion” – the most heart-wrenching experience I had suffered in my 18 years; it was certainly your most painful experience in your three short months. It has taken me all these years to get over it.

Now... I realize this is something I will never get over. That fateful April day has replayed itself over and over in my mind like a horror movie one forces herself to watch, then cannot forget. Even in my distraught state of mind, I knew there were other options but I was too scared to consider them. Still a child myself, I “wasn’t ready” to be a mother: What I didn’t realize was that I was already a mother. When you became my child at the moment of conception, my love for you began at the very same time, and, although your life was ended, my love has never died.

Your silent screams have awakened me from sleep many times... and I have lain in the dark and mourned the loss of the baby I killed. I have even contemplated ending my life as I ended yours.

It has been ten years and I have still not forgiven myself. Have you forgiven me? Has God forgiven me...? In many nightmares over the years scenes of a tiny fetus in a trash bag haunt my subconscious. Often wakening in a cold sweat, I feel again the excruciating pain of the abortion itself — but those ten minutes were nothing compared to the ten years of pain I’ve lived with since.

For years my heart has ached to write you this letter, but the paper was covered with tears before I could begin. For some reason, though, tonight is different. Perhaps it is meant to help others avoid the agony I have experienced, to help girls “in trouble” as I was ten years ago, to realize that there are alternatives to abortion... if it does help prevent even one abortion, it will have served its purpose.

But, Baby, my real purpose in sending it to you is to let you know that I love you, wherever you are. And I am sorry. Forgive me.

Love,

Mommy