Melanie

 

Before I can tell you who I am; I need to tell you who I was.  I was driven. I was determined, forthright and opinionated.  I believed more than anything that one should stand up for his/her moral convictions.  And I did-heading up and winning debate’s at my high school.  My peers looked up to me and chose me for leadership positions.  I was elected captain of our cheerleading squad, selected as news editor for our school paper, chosen to be a director for plays in my drama class, and nominated for our homecoming and winterfest courts.

 

My senior year, an edition was published and my peers awarded me with such honors as; Best Actress, Best Smile, Best Listener, Best Leader, Most Talented, and Best Writer.  By that time, I was an award-winning author- published within the state, and nationally.  My awards included those for feature spreads, poetry, short stories, and a play.  I had earned several academic medals in Science, English, Journalism, and Drama; and pinned them along with my athletic medals on my varsity letter.  I worked very hard to get my letter-making the team my sophomore year.  I took pride in myself, and all of my accomplishments.  I was recognized for my endeavors and awarded a $ 25,000 scholarship to the University of Detroit Mercy for Theatre.  I was thankful to God for all of my blessings, and thrilled to be going to a Catholic University. 

 

Without even requesting it, a teacher of mine had written a letter of recommendation.  I was flattered when I read it.  She described me as “an exemplary student, displaying an innate talent for writing,”… “A hard worker who will readily accept any challenge,” and portrayed my writing as “creative” with a “unique style,” and called it a “natural-born talent.” The highest compliment she paid, however, was “while some individuals may over extend themselves, leaving no time to work with or help others, [I was] always willing to help when [I saw] a peer in need.” 

 

I felt a deep connection to people, and I truly wanted to help them and make a difference in their life, and the world.  My writings were often related to aspects of the human condition which I felt passionate about.  I tried to inspire my audience while demanding change in a profound way.  When stories of cruelty circulated about a girl in my class I took action!  I wrote about it.  My English teacher was so moved by my work that she asked me to read it to my class.  I would like to share it with you now:

 

IT

 

The poem was written with conviction.  It was written for affect.  It was written from the heart of a girl I once knew.  It was written before I knew what I would become!

 

I graduated high school with the world at my fingertips.  I had everything I wanted; a strong sense of family, a loving boyfriend, a close knit group of friends, and an unwavering faith in my dreams, myself, and my plight to make a difference in the world.  I walked unto the campus of the University of Detroit Mercy swollen with pride, and driven by purpose. 

 

Within a month, I had made the college cheer team, gathered information about the journalism department, and started production on a play in the theatre department.  Everything was going as I had planned- that is until “IT” happened.  Yes, I do mean “it.”  I discovered I was pregnant!  You see, my high school sweetheart and I had been having unprotected sex.  With all my academic success, you would think I would have used more sense, but I did not!  Worst of all, I had sacrificed my moral convictions; I had defied my parents and my Heavenly Father.  I was raised in a family where religion was instilled in me- and I was instructed never to have sex before marriage.  But, there I was hugging a porcelain toilet at my boyfriend’s best friend’s house emptying my stomach of all its contents.  “What is the matter with you?” my boyfriend had asked.  I replied without hesitation- as if I knew, “I’m pregnant.”

 

There was no discussion of an abortion by my boyfriend.  At least not right away.  He was in denial.  He was waiting for the final word from the doctor. But, I did not need it.  I knew from the moment I was hugging the toilet that I was.  I had not skipped my period and I cannot explain it other than to say…I just knew.  And I was right.  The next day two tests confirmed that I was.  That week, a visit to the doctor finalized the results.  Yes, I was indeed with child. 

 

I prayed to God for a way to tell my family, and I was ashamed to tell my friends.  I had been the one who preached chastity- then preached safe-sex.  It was crazy how my morals became altered.  I became that person I hated.  I was a hypocrite.  I worried about what everyone would think.  I worried about losing my scholarship.  I worried about how I would make it all work, college and a baby?The girl who was voted “Best Listener” needed someone to listen.  So, I did the only thing I knew to do.  I prayed! I bent down before an image of Christ in a small shrine on campus and I prayed silently with tears streaming down my face.  I did not believe in having an abortion, but I still asked God what to do.  His answer was short, and it was clear-“trust in me.” I was relieved.  I felt an inner strength which I knew could allow me to share this with my family.

 

I drove to my hometown from school to speak with my boyfriend about it.  When I got there we hugged so tightly.  I felt warmth surround us.  I felt my stomach press up against his, and I knew it was right.  It felt so natural and I knew he must have felt it, too.  It was so powerful; my love for him and the being inside of me.  I could not imagine anything else.

 

“Well?” he said.  “Well, what?” I asked.  He looked at me puzzled.  “Well, what are we going to do?”… “Well,” I said with a smile on my face, “we’re going to have a baby!”  I barely got the words out when my award-wining smile disappeared-because at that moment his eyes met mine.  “What?” he screamed aloud, “Are you out of your,” …this is when the profanity came…“mind?”… “We can’t have a,”… more profanity “…baby!”… “We have nothing! We don’t even have any money.  How can we take care of a baby?  We can’t even take care of ourselves?”  My heart felt instantly betrayed.  This is the man who said throughout high school that he wanted to marry me.  He was the one who told me countless times he loved me.  How could he be saying such things?  Did he not understand this was in God’s hands, and a baby is a blessing?  I knew I needed to reassure him, as I had done many times before in our relationship.  Like the time his father beat him up, kicking him out of the house and I held him in my arms while he sobbed, and begged my family to take him in.

 

“Don’t worry,” I said.  “God will take care of us, I know it, I know He will!”… “I spoke to Him about it, and He told me that all we need to do is trust in Him.” He did not have a religious upbringing so he was not convinced.  He began to yell at me at the top of his lungs like a child throwing a tantrum because he could not have his way.  He was close to my face and shaking uncontrollably.  I was flabbergasted-I had never seen him act so aggressive.  I am not sure why I was so surprised.  We were children, really (just barely eighteen) and we were now facing having a child ourselves.  The peace I had felt, it turned to fear.  I had no control over the tears bolting down my face.  He called me names, “You are a fool!”… “You are crazy.  You are out of your mind!”… He questioned my faith in the matter, telling me there was no way that it was God’s will.  He finished with more profanity, “I can’t take this bull…” and he ran up the stairs out of the house, and to his car.

 

I chased after him. “Wait, I want to go with you.”  Through all the verbal abuse and rejection, I wanted more than anything to be with him.  As my initial fears consumed me, I started to feel too embarrassed to tell my family.  I could not stand to face this alone; I needed him.  I jumped into his car and he sped off.

 

We were silent, at first, him concentrating angrily on the road, and me staring out the window of his red escort in a daze; tears welling up and pouring all over me.  I was glad the side-view passenger window was broken, so I did not have to see myself.  There was so much shame within me.  Everything in our world that seemed so real was suddenly a lie.  He was not the “man” I thought he was.  He was a scared boy!  He could never have loved me as he said.  For if he did, how could he feel this way?  How could he deny me and our baby?  I prayed silently again, “Lord, I’m trusting You, please help me.”  We were in a moment which should have been joyful-and yet, I was wrought with grief.

 

The silence did not last too long, though it felt like hours.  Immediately they came-his words, like a weapon, beat me down.  “You’re crazy you know that?  This will ruin our lives.  This is not a blessing!  This is a nightmare.  I can’t be a Father!” and on and on he carried away.  “What about our parents?  You’re parents will be so disappointed in you. Your friends won’t be around you know?”…“You will never finish school!”…and he followed with the words that hurt the most, “Your father will never forgive you!” My heart stopped.  I remembered my father’s rage when he discovered my sister was pregnant at seventeen.  He was irate screaming at her that had he known earlier she could have had an abortion.  I had listened to it all through the thin walls of my bedroom, and been so hurt to think my father wanted to do away with his own grand-child, my nephew-our blood! “You’re wrong!” I shouted out, “He will understand.” 

 

With words he beat back at me; most of them laced with profanity.  “You’re crazy, you know!”… “Your sister used to be your Dads favorite- now he’s so proud of you, why would you ruin it?”… “You will ruin my life!” I tried to argue with him “No, it won’t ruin everything.  It won’t ruin your life.  We can make this work.”  He lost it. He was swearing and shouting aloud.  He began punching against the steering column and cracked the plastic, cutting his hand.  It was bleeding. 

 

I was sobbing uncontrollably and choked of breath.  I couldn’t take it.  I begged him to stop the car- but he wouldn’t.  He just kept beating me down with his painful admissions.  I was so desperate to get away that I opened the car door while the car was still moving.  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked.  I couldn’t speak I just wanted him to stop the car.  “What are you trying to do kill yourself?” he screamed.  “What are you trying to do-kill our baby?” I thought.  He slowed the car with the brakes, and I jumped out before it came to a stop.  I ran!  I ran from the pain of his words!  I ran from the fear of my parent’s disappointment.  I ran from my shame.  I ran from the truth and from the lie that was “us.”  I just ran.  I didn’t stop for about half a mile.  All the while, he was driving alongside me demanding I get back in the car.  He insisted we needed to talk this through. He apologized for his outbursts.  Reluctantly, I got back in the car.

 

He took me back to my mom’s house and no one was home.  I had hoped so badly to see my sister’s car in the driveway.  If anything, I could talk to her.  She would understand.  She would know.  Certainly she could convince him that we would be okay.

 

The situation turned hopeless, as we spent all night going back and forth, back and forth…back and forth.  I wanted this baby. He didn’t.  Toward the end, I took his abuse without a fight.  Here I was, the girl described by her teacher as someone “who will readily accept any challenge,” and I was giving up.  The tears has swollen my eyes, my nose was red from the constant blowing.  I was too embarrassed to make an appearance at school, or in front of my family.  I locked my self in my room that morning and into the next day.

 

For the next few weeks, I was in a daze.  I just went through the motions; as they say.  I was too afraid to be alone, but I reached out to no one.  I was convinced that my family and friends would reject me.  My boyfriend was the only one who knew the truth, and he insisted that we keep it a secret until we figured things out.  When we discussed it, our talks always ended with what he called, “the right thing to do.” I did not know it then, but realized years later that he wanted to alienate me so I would conform to his plan.

 

So - the girl who had always been opinionated and thought of as a genuine leader-left it all behind to follow a vision that wasn’t her own.  It was something I could have never imagined for myself.  It went against everything I ever believed in.  To this day, I do not know how I could have ever agreed with it.  But- I did.  I made the decision to have an abortion.

 

I continued to go to college, attending my classes and making believe as if I were not pregnant-up until the final day.  Yes, I really was a good actress.  No one had found out my secret.  Not even my best friend.  Deep down, I wanted my family and friends to know.  If they knew, my boyfriend could not blame me for following through with the pregnancy.  I would have to have our baby.  I wanted this baby, but I wanted him to want it, too.  I prayed my family would find out, because I knew in my heart abortion was no answer.  I just didn’t have the inner strength to stand up for my baby.  I didn’t have the inner strength to stand up for myself, either.

 

I committed the most heinous crime.  I walked into a clinic with my boyfriend holding my hand, and paid a stranger to get rid of my baby.  God had not abandoned me; He whispered to me that I didn’t have to do it.  But-I was in denial and I didn’t listen.  Even as I took my final paperwork up to the clinic receptionist He prodded me.  When I stood up from the chair in the waiting room my legs gave out.  They went completely numb and I could not feel them.  They felt asleep from my waist down, and I literally fell to the floor while my boyfriend tried to catch me.  I truly felt that it was God’s way of warning me not to go through with it, and it was a sign.  People were staring at me.  My boyfriend acted surprised and asked, “What happened? Are you okay?”  I couldn’t believe he did not know.  I wanted him to see it in my eyes and know what I was thinking.  I wanted to run out of the clinic at that very moment.  But, I froze up.  He reached his hand out to grab the paperwork, “Do you want me to take that up there?” It was final-he did not care, how could I?  I crept up to the front desk and handed over the paper giving permission to violate my innocent baby.  It was agonizing, as I felt that that there was no turning back.  I was foolish enough to believe it, anyway.

 

As I watched women go back one-by-one I dreaded my turn.  I detached myself from the moment.  I focused on all the negative points my boyfriend had made.  It was all I could do to convince myself that it was right.  I thought about everything except that which mattered the most- my baby!  I was so selfish!  The journey had become all about me! I am so ashamed of it.

 

I need not get into the details of the procedure itself.  All you need to know is that those who say it is a simple painless procedure-are wrong!  It was horrendous what happened to my baby, and I was wrought with pain over it!  It is anything from simple.

 

After it is done, they lead you out to a back door; a door which those entering never see.  They do that on purpose, you know.  They wouldn’t want potential money making opportunities to go astray.  Had I seen the end results-I feel I would have had no problem mustering the strength to walk right back out.

 

I was shuffled into the back seat of my car and I curled up in a ball grabbing at my stomach in anguish.  Not from physical pain, but from the loss of my baby-and the immediate grief that I felt.  I sobbed the whole car ride home.  It was an hour and a half long ride.  My boyfriend was speechless.  He did not say a word to me.  How could he?  I think he was in shock seeing me in this state.  My body was shaking as I moaned aloud gasping for breath as if hyperventilation.  To this day, I am certain that is the hardest I have ever cried.

 

We reached my mom’s house and as he helped me out of the car in a whisper he finally spoke, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”  I will never forget it.  It as too late.  If anyone was sorry it was me.  I didn’t know if I would ever forgive myself.  I didn’t know how I could go on with my life.

 

The days and weeks after were pure misery.  Of all the plays I performed in this was my most difficult role, yet.  I continued to attend school but felt the shame of what I had done every time I crossed the court and gazed at the shrine of Jesus, or heard the bells ringing for mass.  I was a hypocrite.  I had committed the ultimate sin.  I felt I did not belong there anymore.  I knew I could not continue my studies at a Catholic institution.

 

Before announcing my decision to leave the university, a Professor of mine asked to meet with me.  I had not expressed my grief to him.  He noticed a change in me so profound that it prompted him to schedule a meeting in his office to counsel me.  When I met with him, I burst into tears.  All I could say was that my boyfriend was doing drugs.  It was partly true, he was.  But, at the time, so was I.  In fact, I was doing drugs to numb myself; as I could not seem to escape the pain I had felt from my decision.  My purpose driven life suddenly had no meaning.  My Professor begged me to stay.  He gave me a phone number to reach a counselor at the school.  I never used it.  I gave up my scholarship, and I left the university a different person.  I was swollen with regret-and driven by guilt and shame.

 

For years, it was hard to care about anything.  I immersed myself in drugs, and cared less and less about my future.  I plugged away at community college courses in a dream-like state, with no real direction.  There were many days I did not want to exist.  Every day I was reminded of what I had done.  There were baby commercials, baby-talk among others, and families all around me.  I was living in my own personal hell, and it was something I created.

 

My boyfriend and I never discussed the abortion.  After we had done it- he had vocalized that he never wanted to speak of it again.  There was no one for me to share my pain with.  Eventually, I told my secret to two of my friends-but I assured them I was fine.  I wasn’t though.  I spoke with God about it and I went to confession to ask for forgiveness.  I did not think I would ever be forgiven.  One way of purging me of some of the pain was to write about it.  I’d like to share a sample of one of my works:

 

Stage of the Sinner

 

The poem was written with truth.  It was written from the drama of my life.  I wrote it from the heart.  It is about the girl I became.

 

You see, when you have an abortion-it becomes extremely difficult to face yourself in the mirror.  Since my abortion I have been playing a part which I never escape.  I am only left to “act” as if I am okay inside.  I go to baby showers and it tears me apart-but no one knows.  My friends show me pictures of their children and I smile-but it feels fake.  Because, inside I am so sad- yearning to know what a picture of my child would look like.  I’ll never know.  When I hear people say, “Don’t you want children?” it pierces my heart.  If only they knew it is a painful reminder.  But they don’t!  So, maybe I am the “Best Actress”, after all.

 

I was able to keep my abortion from my family for nearly seven years before one of them knew of my act.  It came with my sister urging me to join Life Chains, and peacefully protest against abortion.  I feared if I joined the chain or held a sign it would be hypocritical.  I couldn’t keep lying to her saying I was “pro-choice.” I wasn’t!  I knew first-hand how abortion ruins lives.  The day I broke down she had showed me a picture of a small fetus griping onto a hand-and the picture was worth more than 1,000 words.  It was worth me coming forth with the truth.  I burst into tears, my words hardly audible-but she held me as I sobbed without reserve.  She showed me compassion and I wondered how she could.  She still loved me.  What compassion had I shown for my baby?  I had not even loved my baby enough to save it. 

 

My sister is truly the definition of pro-life.  She kept her baby, and faced adversity.  I respect her and love her all the more for it.  I could not imagine what life would be like with out my nephew.  Throughout the years, he has made me so proud.  I wish so badly I did not have to imagine everyday what life would be like with my child here-but I do.

 

For thirteen years I have suffered with an ache and chasm-like void for the loss of my baby.  Twelve of those thirteen years, I spent in a drug infested haze. 

 

My crime is one I’m only just beginning to forgive myself for, but it will never be forgotten.  I call it a crime, though I have not been convicted through the courts.  But, it is a crime!  Under the 8^th amendment of our constitution criminals are granted protection against the infliction of “…cruel and unusual punishment.”  What a shame they are given more rights than a baby that is innocent of any wrong-doing.  For abortion is “cruel,” and it is certainly an “unusual punishment.”  What a shame they tell us that a women’s “choice” is her God given right.  What choice did my baby have?  The truth is my baby had no say!  I took that away! But, I have a say now!

 

For thirteen years I pretended I did not need to tell my story.  I’m not going to pretend anymore!  I need to speak for those babies who might be aborted.  I need you to know the truth, so you can speak for them, too!  I was told in order to survive I had to make a “choice.” I made a choice in which my baby did not survive- but neither did I.  Abortion didn’t just kill my baby-it killed my spirit!

 

My name is Melanie Elizabeth Heuwagen. But, that is just a name. The real Melanie Elizabeth Heuwagen died the day I killed my baby! Now you know who I am, and what I have become.