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Possibly His Only Chance...and Probably My Last

It has been six weeks since I found out I was pregnant...and two weeks since I terminated it. I get a little better every day, but the sadness still lingers. I would give anything to go back and undo what we've done.

I will never forget the day I went to him, tears in my eyes, to tell him that we were pregnant. What should have been happy news, was unbelievably heart-wrenching. I had already made the appointment to terminate before I even told him. As much as we love each other, I knew it (having the baby) simply could not happen. We are not free to share our love publicly, and a pregnancy would be incredibly difficult to explain. Yes, we are both in other relationships. Neither of us is happy in those relationships, but we also have no way to get out of them right now. (Please don't bother condemning us for falling in love...the heart knows what the heart wants, reality be damned. We pay now for choices we each made long ago, but at least we find a bit of comfort in each other's love and support...something we don't get anywhere else.)

The saddest part is that his very selfish wife refused to give him children. This was possibly his only chance to be a father. What should have been a wonderful gift was, instead, a cold hard look at reality. He is out of work at the moment, and slave to a controlling, manipulative woman. I am a non-traditional adult student, one semester away from graduating from college. We are both in our 40's, still young enough to raise children, but not free to share the life that a child would deserve.

When I told him, we cried in each other's arms for hours. We talked about all the reasons why we had to make this decision. We tried to reassure each other that it was for the best, but we both knew we didn't want to give up the baby. I prayed night and day for a miraculous answer...one that would enable us to have the baby despite the difficulties involved. No answer came.

He offered to go with me to the clinic...truly wanted to be there with me, to support me through it...but I did not want him to witness what I knew would be a difficult process. As if it weren't already bad enough, during the ultrasound I discovered that there was not just one fetus, but two. Although I already have two grown children, here were the twins I had always prayed for. The news hit me like ton of bricks, and I nearly walked out of the clinic at that moment.

The actual abortion turned out to be rather painful. I had opted not to have any painkillers because I knew I would need to be able to drive afterward. As much as I wished he was there holding my hand, I also knew I was right in not wanting him to see the pain I was going through. He was already condemning himself for what we were doing, and seeing the actual process would only have made it so much worse. In my own way, I was protecting him from even more pain than he was already feeling.

I went to him afterward. We cried again. We have cried together many times since, and talk openly and honestly about our feelings. The grief is subsiding, but the sadness, I fear, will linger for a long, long time. I know I will feel the loss again very deeply in August when our babies would have been due...very near to my own birthday.

Before the abortion, I had already begun to see them (not realizing then why I was getting alternating visions of a boy =and= a girl), and would find myself touching my belly in a protective and loving way. Now there is nothing but emptiness, a deep feeling of loss. I wish I had been strong enough to say "screw it", I'm having my babies and I don't care what anyone else thinks.

I would give anything to undo what I've done.

inamorata2010 inamorata2010 41-45 2 Responses Jan 1, 2011

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Thank you both for your kind words. Most days I am fine, but every once in awhile those feelings come over me again and I desperately wish I had made a different decision. I remind myself that what's done is done and it's too late for me to change it, but perhaps one day I will be able to help someone else find a different way. Blessings to you for reaching out to comfort me.

I am so sorry! I cry for you right now. I hope you are doing better now and maybe at peace with what had to be done.