The months pass.
And I miss you.
The years will pass, too.
And I will miss you.
How many women remember an
important date in their lives.
A wedding. A birthday of a husband or child.
I have December 11th, the day of your abortion.
I mark my calendar.

There were days when the pain was
almost more than I could bear.
I wailed and I screamed in my car alone.
At night I cried into my pillow.
I wanted to die because I couldn't bear living without you.

All the time, trying not to believe in the finality of the situation.

But finally I had to accept the truth.
Accept the responsibility for what I've done.
I had to look at the sonogram.
I had to pay the bills.

I had to laugh on the phone, smile at friends, and at least pretend to live again.

Everyone has an opinion.
Some call me wise, some call me a
murderer, some a victim.

Some people say you were "just a clump of cells", "a bit of jelly".
Some people say you were my child.

Your father — he says nothing.
But somewhere between all the words,
somewhere in the silence of my mind, in my own heart, I can mourn your loss.
I can miss you.
I can define you.
For in the end, this is just between you and me.

I was the only one to know you.
And I'll be the only one who will ever cry for you.

There's no memory of you,
no voice to remember, no album of photos.
No one ever saw your face.

There's no forgiveness.
No forgetting.
No end to my sorrow, my regret.

When people lose someone, they often say a part of them is missing.
But instead of losing a part of me,
somehow I've gained forever a part of you,
which weighs heavy in my heart:
loss, guilt, pain, and yes
(although some would like to deny me)
love of you.

My child, your heart will forever beat within me.

— Unknown source