Impotent Rage
(Red and white flags, representing Iraqi and American deaths, sit in the grass quad of en:The Valley Library on the en:Corvallis, Oregon campus of en:Oregon State University . As part of the traveling Iraq Body Count exhibit (not related to the en:Iraq Body Count project ) the flags aim to "raise awareness of the human cost of the Iraq War." http://iraqbodycountexhibit.org/ )
Once in a while, I pass a local church where I see the now familiar site of hundreds of little white crosses, representing a baby aborted. The number changes, sometimes it's a thousand, sometimes less, sometimes more.
This invokes a feeling of anger within me, not because I disagree with their intention, but because I can find sympathy with it.
I believe in choice, the choice of a woman who makes this decision cannot be an easy one. I agree with what barack Obama said in the last debate, that nobody is Pro-Abortion. And I do not want a law outlawing abortion, because it is that choice which, in my mind I misuse the word irony too much, but it is in the ability to make that choice that morality is found. Not that one is moral depending on making the right choice, butt hat in order to be moral, you have to make the choice.
I look at my little daughter, sleeping in her crib, and I couldn't imagine her not being there.
And when I think of anyone who has lost a child, I can understand where that pain comes from, and where it can go.
Sarah was once a little fetus, me and Lisa's little peanut, and I couldn't begin to express the sorrow and despair I would feel if she hadn't been born. She was alive to me from the moment I saw her on the ultrasound. every day she wakes up is a miracle.
But it angers me that so much heart and feeling goes into fighting against the death of the unborn, yet so often, it apparently doesn't matter one damn bit what happens to that child once it pops out of the mother.
Life is sacred.
All life.
Bungholes.