My Son.

Today, while I was reflecting on the anniversary of the death of my only full blood sibling (my brother Danny, born June 12th 1975, died June 7 1999), I remembered what someone very close to me said when they heard about the death of their child. "I'm being punished for getting an abortion with my first child." While I cannot say I agree with that statement (God is merciful and forgiving if we would but turn to him!), I can say that it was obvious this woman was greatly grieved over the loss of both of her children. I mean, if the abortion didn't bother her conscience, that would not have been her reasoning for her other child's death.

But this post is about my first-born child, Tylor. I was 16 years old and thought, "Something just doesn't seem right. Maybe I'm pregnant?" I talked with a friend and asked if she would take me to get a pregnancy test (I did not have a vehicle). She said she'd be glad to.

I told her, "Planned Parenthood is right up the road; we can just go there."
She said quite passionately, "I REFUSE to take you there!"
Of course my natural response was, "Why?"
"Because they push abortions!"
"What's an abortion?" Yes. That was me. I was 16 years old and didn't know what an abortion was. I LOVED human growth and development class. I could tell you all about growing babies, both inside and outside of the womb. I faintly remembered hearing the word in school, but what it was all about never really stuck in my mind ... probably because the truth and reality of it all was glossed over.

She went on to explain what an abortion was, AND share her personal story. Are you ready for this? Here it goes. SHE was the result of an "abortion gone wrong." When her mother was pregnant with her, she had an abortion. They threw her in the garbage. But something did not "work" right. After all was said and done and everyone had left, a nurse was cleaning things up and noticed the baby did not die. I am not 100% clear of the details, but the nurse took her out of the trash, I assume she cleaned her up, and then some how took her to an orphanage. Whatever the case, she was later adopted and grew up to be a beautiful young woman. I have long ago lost touch with her, but her story will stay with me for the rest of my life.

She took me to a crisis pregnancy center, I had the test, it was positive. They piled me up with a bunch of literature, and I went home to face my dad. Naturally, he was quite upset. He gave me three choices, and I quote: "Get an abortion, give him up for adoption, or get out of my house." Needless to say, I chose option number 3 (and needless to say, the first time he held Tylor he said, "I cannot see how I ever asked you to give him up.")

Today a thought occurred to me that never has come before.

My friend was an angel sent straight from God.

What if I had asked someone else to take me? Or what if I had walked? What if I went to Planned Parenthood and never had abortion properly explained to me?

My son is a miracle. A true gift from God. Thank you Lord.

We've had our ups and downs with this young man, but I wouldn't change it for ANYTHING. He is a true blessing and I am eternally thankful that the Lord trusted me with his little soul. For all that knew Tylor when he was younger, I'm sure you have many, many stories!!! I cannot help but tell ONE story because it explains him quite well. He was 5 when my brother died. We were all sad beyond words. I was in a daze for weeks. Months. Years. Anyway, we were all sad, standing there at the grave site. Tylor starts stomping on the ground (he was standing on the fake green grass carpet thing). He says quite loudly and animated (in his own way), "I'm stepping on something hard. I think it's a head!" Yeah. That's Tylor. We were all thankful for the laugh.