A friend recently posted on his Facebook a meme against abortion. It was one of those days and I went into a long detailed response of life a child lives when abused, drug addicted, emotionally and mentally damaged, etc, and asked the question, is abortion really the worst thing? His response was “Yes, abortion really is the worst thing.”
I don’t want to get into the abortion debate, but I felt deflated. Obviously my real message had not gotten through to someone yet again. A life of living in constant pain, constant confusion, never belonging, where black seems white and white seems orange. Where nothing ever makes sense to you, and you never make sense to anyone else. A life of a RAD, a traumatized child. A child that statistically will grow up, commit crimes, and end up in jail again and again. A child that may or may not have help provided to him/her in their lifetime. A child that when grown will continue the cycle of abuse, addiction, and trauma, because it’s genetically encoded at this point.
I didn’t paint a pretty picture on his post, but I didn’t paste a totally reality-based one either. It was way watered down from what most of us see our children living. But he obviously felt it was blown way out of proportion or a one in a million chance, and not the reality we live. Locking our bedroom doors at night, fearing for our own safety, literally fearing for our own survival, if we sleep. They think it’s made up, or Hollywood embellished. Never mind my one friend with the broken cheekbone from her 7 year old beating her with his fists and she was unable to keep every blow from landing in one of his rages. Never mind the 5 yr old caught choking his 3 yr old sister to unconsciousness because he wanted her “dead and gone”, after seeing his dad do it to his mom, also someone I know. Let’s ignore the six year who beat the cat to death. Or having to lock up every single sharp object so your nine year old won’t cut herself and end up bleeding to death, and those sharp objects include wire tablets, pencils, pencil sharpeners, paper clips and things you’d never think would be sharp enough to make you bleed and leave a scar, but are. If we are the one in a million families, if we are so rare, then how come I know so many of them? How come I can go on and on and list personal examples of things like these – just from people I know? Let’s not even count the people THEY know. And the people they know….
The only time the “regular public” hears about us is when (a) our children kills us or (b) our children kills someone else or (c) our children falsely accuse us of abuse or (d) our child commits some terrible crime. That recently happened to two other friends of mine whose children are teens and young adults… they woke up to the morning news with their kid’s face plastered all over with the words “wanted” on it.
Hear me, people. These are not bad parents I’m talking about. These are parents that did their best to get the kids all the help they possibly could. It wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t enough.
So, my friend Kevin, I respectfully disagree that a dead baby is the worst thing in life. A dead life is the worst thing: living but being dead inside, and having that putridness permeate and affect everything and everyone you ever meet.