This one goes out to N. and T.
On the evening of the thirty-third anniversary of Roe v. Wade, this is for N. who woke in a cold room after "the procedure" to see, first thing, a cockroach floating in the sink. And this is for T, who had a daughter and wanted another child. On our way back from the ice cream store, she started cramping and bleeding and lost the baby. And this is for L., who doesn't have a child and doesn't miss one. And this is for my mother, Y., who at 65 still delivers a baby at least every week, usually in the middle of the night.
This is for X., my best friend from college, who has been put through a million hoops before she and her wife will be allowed to adopt. And for K., who has had three abortions, each one, she tells me, where people treated her "like scum." This is for my little sister E., who was told that the morning after pill would give her cancer. And this is for the nameless woman on the end of the line at the abortion clinic who patiently answered my questions and didn't ask any of her own and didn't judge when I had no idea what in the hell I was going to do.
This is for all the women I know who are always balancing biology and sociology, choice and circumstance. This is for all of us jerry-rigging something that works. May the day comes when we're not battling about our bodies. May there be a net beneath our balancing act.
Posted in conjunction with Blog for Choice Day.
