As the evening came and mummy waited endlessly in the ward for the doctor to perform the 'procedure', thousands of miles away I was so ladened with fear I found myself in the one place where many a man in their most desolate devastating and desperate times come to: on bended knees. I had cried heavily and asked God to protect your mother from death. It was our first time and it sure was going to be our last. I made so many solemn vows to Him if He would but grant my one wish that your mother should not die. Indeed, with our own hands we had dared to thread the path of death and given no heed to the essence of God's protection. As I prayed in all earnest, despair crept into the mind to shut it from reason. After all we were committing the abomination of the Philistines. Rather than offer our own child to YHWH (God) to bless and build, we had bowed down to the forces that threaten this world by offering our own child to Molech to eat and destroy. The thought of committing such evil discouraged me from praying yet the love for and fear of loosing your mother fastened my knees to the ground; the not so solemn words of prayers occasionally interrupted by frightening thoughts of loosing her. 'What if she dies in the process from excessive blood loss? What if in that hospital people who go for such procedures are occasionally sacrificed for blood rituals or obscene occult practises? Could it be that I have made an animal sacrifice of my beloved girlfriend for evil purposes? What would I tell her mother, no! Who will?' I had hoped this would all end quick so we would have our minds fixed on going to the confessionals and having our sins forgiven.
An hour had passed and I had not gotten any response from my calls. I had dialed her number for another hour to see if she would pick up the phone and still no answer. "The procedure would only take thirty minutes" assured the Doctor on the phone. I recalled his calm and confident voice. It was as clear as musical notes. In that instance they felt more like the hissing of a venomous snake. After all, he had refused to carry out the procedure on ethical grounds insisting he won't do it to a well formed foetus as that. He had referred us to another doctor whom he had assured us was all about the money and a professional. I started to wonder if this had meant you and mummy were all about a "professional" ritualist room, disguised as a ward and becoming "the money". I shrugged, adamantly opposing the idea as I began to search my phone for Doctor's contacts. I found it and called him to find out why its been two hours she went into the ward and she wasn't through. Two minutes later I got a call back from him and his message dealt a heavy blow to me. How can she be gone missing from a whole clinic? What scared me the most was the fact she was alone. No one had accompanied her to the place so there was no one I could trust who would have given me accurate details of her whereabouts. I believed she would have left her call profile on 'silent' so I continued to dial my phone every minute for another thirty minutes until I could feel hot tears roll down my cheeks onto the velvet rug carpet of my little room. I continued to sob heavily like a deserted child, all alone, lost, in the four corners of my room until my eyes shut and I wondered into the darkness that had consumed me into a hopeless sleep.
A call came from mummy one hour later and to my relief I could hear her, though indistinct words were being uttered by her as she sobbed. She said so many things to me but in the midst of all the babbles I could make out only a few disappointing phrases '... I can't... we won't...'. The panic in my heart from not knowing if she was safe was immediately replaced by utter disgust. Nothing I would say could convince her to go back to the clinic. It was the seemingly undesirable end to my pipe-lined hopes of going back to a normal life. I was certain my very own prayers had come to taunt me. Those sincere words I had proclaimed with a clear heart and purpose but absent thoughts, 'Father let your will be done...take control', had received answers a far cry from my intentions. I got to find out that in the ward next to mummy's the birth pangs she had heard of a woman bringing forth a child to life, in synergy with the dream she had had of you the night before she was going to the clinic had led to the dilatory decision she made to withdraw from the procedure. You see, something spiritual, though at the time I could only describe as insanity, had run its course in your mother's heart. In a dream, the night before the incident, she had picked up a gun and pulled the trigger thoughtlessly at an object wrapped in a shawl only to realize that it contained life, an infant child. As she had peered down to look at this infant whose face was beginning to look familiar, the night's sleep was cut short by the shock it gave her. It was in this one spiritual moment that your mother saw you and realized you were our son, a striking resemblance of I your father. Perhaps this was the will of God after all, that we should have you.
It took me time to accept that will. In fact I no longer wanted to accept the beautiful reality of having my own son. I wanted the normal life. I was full of certainty I would regret having you but the case would seem different today. It's been twelve weeks since we accepted you and started to look forward to building a family together with you in it. We have grown together as a couple and found the love and support of family and friends to be beyond what we had imagined. We had begun to look forward to the arrival of our blessing only to loose you two weeks ago to the the cold hands of death. Who could have imagined the possibility of nature plunging us into an abyss of pain and sorrow? Who would have expected a miscarriage after arduously accepting God's will to sire a child in this most difficult manner. And it so happens that grief would not deem it fit to pay me a visit without a friend of equally reputable misery: guilt.
I blame myself daily for wanting you dead. I had wished this horrible fate for you with all of my soul. Today you are no more and my heart is in anguish because I regret this. I thought not having you would lead to a normal life but its been hard in my soul to live with the guilt and pain especially now that I have not treated you any less than you are. My firstborn son. I wish you would forgive me for having wished you were dead. I know we would find a way through life and always cherish the memory of you in our hearts. I pray you to find peace in knowing that me and mummy would be together forever and when the time comes we would parent many brothers and sisters we can always hold dear to cosset in our hands and grow very fond of them. We would never forget how much effort your spirit put in to help us realise that you were more than just a consequence of our irresponsibility but a product of our love, morally deficient as it was, yet in all entirety thorough and true.
Rest in peace my dear Junior. You are in our Lord's arms now. I love you
Your Father.
(Keep on guessing who...lol!)
MORAL OF THE STORY is, every child is a soul and every soul deserves to be loved and treated in that special way. Today in the world abortion is seen as a way out. But in all its nature its only a way to reduce the dignity of the human race. Lets help keep those young people out of such fate and give them reasons to rise up after falling into such mistakes.God help us all.
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