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I got pregnant when I was 16. I had it all planned that I would either keep the baby or give it up for adoption. I really wanted to keep him. I waited as long as I could to tell my mother because I knew what her reaction was going to be. I told her the choices I had considered and she refused to hear any of it. She said, "you probably waited till it's too late". I was thinking, "I sure hope so." She set up the appointment as fast as possible and when she looked at me it was with complete disdain like I had done her wrong. I will never forget that day, Sept 23, 1983. I had two different colored tube socks on and when they asked me if I was sure, she assured them that this is what I wanted. I went back into the room and stared at the picture they had on the ceiling, and they made fun of my different socks. They said, it's done. I asked them if they knew if it was a boy or girl and they said no. I can only imagine what people that came in to the clinic thought as they saw my mother sitting there 8 months pregnant. You see, I could not possibly take care of her child if I had my own to care for. It has been 28 years and a couple times a year I get in a funk. It is especially bad at the anniversary date. I will start getting depressed and not know why. Then I will see something that will let me know what is up. I still have hard feelings toward my mother. I just can't shake them. I was also very guilty that I took this poor child's life but my pastor said that is not my sin, it is hers. That makes it a little better I guess. And the most important thing they told me was that it was OK to cry. I never really got to grieve the loss of this child. Because to everyone else he didn't exist. Well to me he did exist. And he is with Jesus and I will get to meet him one day. Until that day I guess a couple times a year I will fall into a funk. I just hope I never fall so far down that I can't get up.

Age: 44
Location: Indiana
Date: September 21, 2011