Healing for
a Grandmother's Heart

My daughter was 19 and had just completed her freshman year at college. Her stepfather and I expected her home for the summer, but in May she stayed only long enough to re-pack and move out into an apartment with a friend. To spend the summer with parents had become unthinkable. She had tasted college life and had found freedom and independence to desirable to forfeit, even for the summer.

By August, something had gone terribly wrong. She asked to come back home to live. My husband and I were curious about her change of heart, so we asked her to tell us what had changed. But she refused to share with us and would only respond, "If you knew what I've been through, you wouldn't be so hard on me." The response and her silence about her life added to my growing suspicions. Normally, she had been open about her life, but now she remained closed and distant. Whatever had caused the pain, I knew it must be horrible.

I felt torn inside. A part of me wanted to know what was going on with her and the other part did not. I knew that at age 19 too many bad things can happen, and I just didn't want to face what might be lurking behind her pain. So I chose not to see the clues until denial was no longer possible. During the Christmas holiday, my husband found a pamphlet in her car from our local crisis pregnancy center. It was then that I had to face the truth that my daughter had possibly been pregnant.

Ambivalence once again raised its ugly head. Deep sadness closed my heart as I wanted to escape the pain of the world and its realities. I found myself angry at God for bringing the tragedy of abortion into my daughter's life. And I found myself upset with God and my daughter for bringing it into mine. At the same time, my heart ached for my child who could not tell me about the pregnancy and abortion. I could only imagine that her own guilt and shame kept her from exposing herself and risking the loss of my love and support.

Even though my mind and heart floated between anger and sadness, I knew that I desired reconciliation with my daughter. Mothers are nurturers, comforters, and life givers. We desire to take away the pains of the world, especially when the pain surrounds one of our children.

The opportunity presented itself when, during the holidays, my daughter and I were in the kitchen fixing dinner. As she stood over the stove stirring a pot, I began to stir the conversation with the hope of hearing her story about what had gone wrong. Finally, I simply said, "Were you pregnant?" The tears and words flowed out of her, "I'm so sorry. I had an abortion." We both found the moment difficult, but also freeing and comforting. We had finally been reconciled to one another. She shared with me her own brokeness and her dependence on the Lord to get her through the past months. I prayed with my daughter for the first time in ages.

As the days and months passed, the guilt, shame, anger, and sadness began to reappear. I carried the range of emotions for six months until I took a course from a Christian counselor and teacher. During class one day, he talked about his daughter who taught abstinence in the high schools. He said she could truly connect with the kids because she had gotten pregnant in college.

At that moment, time ceased for me. I felt as if I had witnessed grace. If a respected Christian leader could publicly acknowledge his daughter's out-of-wedlock pregnancy, so could I. His willingness to share his story reminded me that through God's grace, we are free and need not fear the world. I asked if I could meet with his wife. I needed the comfort and presence of another "mother" who knew firsthand what I was thinking and feeling.

Because I had been divorced and a single mom for 10 years, part of me felt guilty and responsible for my daughter's abortion. Even though intellectually I knew that unwed pregnancies and abortions happened regardless of family history, I still felt partly to blame. Telling my story to a respected, married woman who understood the heartache, betrayal, anger, and sadness of a daughter's abortion enabled me to unleash the guilt and shame, and relieve the burden in my soul.

I thought my sharing with another mother had laid everything to rest, but the sadness reappeared. The grief continued to envelope me until one weekend I cried out, "What's wrong with me Lord? Why do I need to talk and tell my story to someone?" I felt a prisoner in my sorrow because there was no place to grieve and no one to listen and understand my pain.

Days later, God's answer filled my heart. The greatest gift I could receive would be for friends and loved ones to tell me they knew about the abortion and grieved with me. Their presence would not only bring comfort to me but would say, "We know, we care, and we love you anyway." I desired a time of mourning over the death of my grandchild as well as the loss of my daughter's innocence. My fear was that she would now categorize her life in terms of before and after the abortion. I wanted a memorial and graveside service with family and friends so that, together, we could mourn our losses.

In today's culture, we have few contexts to mourn aborted babies. We are prisoners in our own pain and grief. We are barred not only by our own shame, guilt, anger, and sadness, but by a world that refuses to recognize the trauma of abortion. For me, the grief felt unending, and I wanted so much for the circle of grief to stop because I was becoming a depressed, angry, and desperate woman.

Fortunately, help arrived. I attended a three-day retreat open to anyone who had been impacted by the trauma of abortion. This gave me time to focus on the loss of my grandchild so that I could finally let go and move on. I was able to memorialize my grandchild with dignity in the presence of others who understood my pain.

Today I feel surges of guilt when I remember that there were times after I learned of my daughter's abortion that I thought, "I'm glad there's not an unwanted baby in our lives." Then I see the pain and sorrow in my daughter, and I feel my own sadness as I realize my grandchild is not around for us to enjoy. It is in those moments that memories of God's love and forgiveness bring comfort, and I am reminded that God is bigger than any of our mistakes, including abortion. Thanks be to God!