Regrets

Old people especially seem to look back on their lives and think about all the regrets they have of what they should have done or what they shouldn't have done.  Younger people don't have enough time spent to look back on their lives and critique it.  However, if perhaps I would have critiqued my life earlier, I would not have so many regrets now.

But I do have many regrets, as most of us do.  I regret not going to the Art Institute of Chicago when I got out of high school.  My father would have paid for it, but I was kind of a screwed up kid and my priorities were different back then.  Instead, I worked at odd jobs, got high and hung out with friends.  I would visit my Uncle Erwin (who I named Micah after) with my dog, Louie, and I would sit and listen to him as he told me all about his colorful past.  Even though he was raised an orthodox Jew, he was the first person to ever tell me about Jesus.  My family considered him eccentric, but he was just a simple, loving man who was terribly lonely and old.  His only son died in World War II and he was divorced twice.  He lived alone in a tiny apartment in Chicago and we would eat cheese sandwiches and he would reminisce.  He told me that he once had a black girlfriend long before he was married.  During that day and age, it was extremely taboo, so I was really impressed to hear that.  I was a rebel, and it was cool to hear that my great uncle was one too.  He was the kindest man I had ever known at the time and I regret to this day lying to him. 

I became pregnant in 1975 and I didn't know what to do, so I decided to get an abortion.  I didn't have the money at the time, so I lied to my uncle and told him I needed to fix my car and he lent the money to me, but all the while, I felt like he knew I was lying.  He died of cancer the following year and I always regretted lying to him, and although I did pay him back every penny, I never told him the truth. 

When I had the abortion, I was so young and naive, that I wasn't prepared for what was going to happen.  The only way I can describe it is like having a vacuum cleaner attachment put inside you and when the doctor turned it on, I could see my belly moving up and down, uncontrollably, with a strong, incredibly uncomfortable sucking feeling going on inside of me.  When the whole thing was over, I was taken to the "recovery" room where another girl was laying and she seemed totally okay with the whole thing.  She told me that this had been her sixth or seventh abortion and I had a hard time believing anyone could do this thing more than one time.  I laid there, bleeding heavily and cried, but I really didn't know what I was crying about.  My parents never taught me that it was wrong and yet I felt this tremendous loss along with pain; the kind of which that only if you have had one, could you ever understand what it is like.  I knew instinctively it was wrong, on every possible level, even though I was never taught or shown that.  To this very day, the greatest regrets in my life were the two abortions that I had.  The first one was out of ignorance and the second one was out of medical necessity, or so I thought.

When I moved to Madison in 1978, I became very sick with a lung infection.  I went to the area hospitals, but no one could figure out how to heal me.  I was bedridden for months because I couldn't breathe. Jason was just 2 years old and during this time, the TV in the motel I stayed at did most of the babysitting for him.  Finally, I went to a new clinic out in Mt. Horeb and met with a young doctor.  He gave me a shot of something that immediately opened up my lungs and then put me on steroids for several days.  The infection cleared up and I could breathe easier, but it was during this time that I found out I was pregnant again.  I had so much medicine pumped into me that I feared the baby would be affected by it, especially the steroids, so I decided to have another abortion.  This time, I borrowed the money from a friend and "took care of the problem," justifying it because of the medication.  Unfortunately, I had the same pain and the same emotional shock that I had the first time - it hadn't changed, even though I thought my reasoning was sufficient.  It wasn't, but I had no one to turn to for help and advice, so once again I made a regretful decision that day.

I wonder sometimes if I will see my aborted babies in heaven.  Sometimes I cry to think of the mistakes I've made that cannot be undone and sometimes I marvel at the stupidity of the many decisions I've made.  And always, when I think of the many regrets in my life, I thank God for His mercy and grace, and the patience and love He has for me.  Without that constant reminder, my life would be nothing more than one giant mistake after another...