On December 1st, 2007, per the guidance and pressure from my family, I was driven first class into hell…by my mom. 

My grandfather had given her $500 cash to “take care of things.” At 20 years old the hour and half drive to 4251 Forest Park Ave, St. Louis, MO 63108 seemed like an eternity.  Black metal gates, onlookers surrounding…my heart raced. We parked, I got out. There was an older woman, wearing a dark brown coat. Short, dark hair and brown eyes. My eyes met hers.  I’ll never be able to describe the feeling that flooded my body, but I will never forget what it felt like. Her eyes were filled with tears…mine, mine were filled with emptiness. Her words, “Please, don’t…please,” ripped my soul indefinitely. I was then pulled by a lady in a neon vest…she pulled me close to her and escorted me to the door.  My mother followed. 

Once inside, I was paralyzed. Cattle, handfuls of women in lines, paperwork in tow; tears coated some, others, laughter.  Once at the desk, a cash payment of $300 was made. My mom made the comment, “Change back, Papa will be happy.” 

From there I was taken into a tiny room.  My mom was informed that she’d have to stay in the waiting room.  I went in, laid on the table, and I heard a sound.  I turned my head towards the sound…and lost every ounce of composer I had. “This is your decision.  Has anyone forced you to be here?”  That question…through tears and heartbreak I lied: “No.” I was escorted to another room, changed into a gown, and laid on the table. The room was bright. There were three nurses and one doctor. Two nurses stood at both sides of my head, each holding my hand. “You are going to feel some stinging…this is normal, it is from the tools, they are on your uterus.” Never have I EVER felt such excruciating pain. It quickly became numb. I clinched my hands tighter…the nurse on my left wiped the tears from my eyes…the other pushed my hair away from my face and told me, “It’s going to be OK.”  It all lasted less than 20 minutes.

I was taken to an open area, sort of like a blood bank.  I sat in a chair and was given a shot, crackers, and a drink.  Thirty minutes later I was taken to the car with my mom.  We drove home. No words were spoken. I was dropped off and left alone…my husband at the time had left me and was with his girlfriend. I laid in my home, bleeding, crying, crawling to the bathroom to puke. 

Never has this event been spoken of…it was swept under the rug. My mother and grandfather and my family told me I wasn’t capable, that I had “no business trying to care for another.”  On December 1st, 2007, I aborted my daughter, Eva Rene, per the guidance of others who “knew what was best for me.” I linger in pure hell daily because of this; it is heavy on my heart, more so than usual. 

As for healing…it still hurts.  I have internalized this pain for 13 years daily. It’s a free-flowing pain that never ceases, and it is always there. My hope is that someone out there reads this and is encouraged to share their pain with others.  Living alone with it, it kills the soul slowly. Use your experiences, your lessons, and your strengths…it lessens the blow a tiny bit. I am here for you, I know your pain, I know your questions, I know your agony…it hurts.  I am here for you. 

Originally posted on Silent No More Awareness