A right to choose

My mom and I had a special relationship. I think all mothers and sons do. Since I was her only son and the last remnant of my father (and so named), she was willing to tell me her secrets. Not all of them, but some. No one tells all.

My mom had an abortion before she had us, and she never told my sisters, which I found odd. She was MAGA all the way. My mom’s sense of grievance had its own flavor—pained, bitter, but also Southern and feisty. She did not believe her grievance was uncalled for, and in a way, it was fair. My dad committed suicide when she was 42. She was left with three kids. My grandmother, her mother, was dying as well, from breast cancer. My mom felt properly screwed over. It was hard for me, being named for a man who caused such chaos through his death. No suicide ever leaves a tidy ending.

My mom told me she was young when she had the abortion, and she had to do it in secret. She felt ashamed and scared about what it would mean when she met God. But it was clear—she did it because she wasn’t ready. With us, she was. With my dad, flaws and all, she was.

My mom was a “Do as I say, not as I do” sort of woman. So I can see why she didn’t tell my sisters. She told me because we told each other a lot. Not all, but a lot. I was the last Sam. She loved me and confided in me about certain things. Like she would have were my dad still around.

I don’t believe my mom would have built our life had she had another child before us. She was from a well-to-do family in River Oaks. She had her abortion to maintain her place, because she had the means to do so, and because she wasn’t ready.

I am grateful for my life, even after my dad’s suicide, after he named me and my sister Samantha after him. And I am grateful for my mom’s abortion because I am sure she wouldn’t have built the life with my dad that she did, had she not. And I learned from it. I am glad I have my sons, whom we planned for and are so grateful to have gotten, healthy and whole.

No woman should be restricted from doing what she wants with her own body. Women are their own deciders, and I call bullshit on all the people who claim abortions at 9 months or after birth are common. Mothers aren’t doing that—only when or if their lives are in question. That’s 0.00001% of all abortions. Most abortions are by women in their first or second trimester who aren’t able to care for the child or who have partners who won’t help or who know there will be health defects.

So I vote for choice and progress. I vote Democratic, even if I lose. Because it’s right. I challenge any man to debate on this. I am here because of my mom’s abortion. It shouldn’t be a choice we demonize or disrespect, and it shouldn’t have been something that weighed on my mom later in life. Only you and your God knows if you lived a worthy life. No book or prophet or proselytizer can tell you otherwise. It was my mom’s decision to make.

So maybe that’s why I’ve had such tragedy in my life. I’m damned, as I’ve been told by Evangelical Christians early on. But I’d take my damned life any day of the week, considering the beauty I’ve also had in it. A beautiful and brilliant wife. Bold and bright sons. I’d take my damned life 100 times out of 100. And I’d still push for choice. That’s why I’m here—my mom’s choice.