Twelve years ago, I was held against my will for almost a year. I was abused, tortured, and raped.Before I was able to leave, I discovered I was pregnant. Society pushed me to get an abortion. Did I want the child of a rapist? What if the child turns out just like him? Did I want a constant reminder of the rape? Giving in to these fears, I agreed.
I have health issues that affect my memory, but I remember November 24, 2004. The sky was cold and overcast, seemingly echoing my gloomy feelings. I gathered up my courage and went into the doctor’s office. I remember lying there and feeling the cold squirt of jelly. The technician muttered under his breath and fiddled with things until he was satisfied.
“Your baby seems to be just fine.”
When I looked, time stopped. I clearly remember every detail, even without pictures. I remember the moment I fell into a deeper love than I had ever known. My son seemed to wave at me. Killing him wouldn’t give me a safe place to live or feed me. It wouldn’t punish my rapist or undo the abuse, but I would remember killing him for the rest of my life. Suddenly, getting an abortion didn’t make sense anymore. I had strength. No matter what it took, I was keeping my child.
I have another memory that has not faded with time. I remember the day he was born. It was also a gloomy day, with rain pouring and the wind blowing hard enough to rattle windows, so cold that I had to find a snowsuit in which to bring him home. I remember giving birth to my son. Nothing had ever been so perfect. He was wonderful and precious, and I somehow loved him even more. I counted every toe and every finger, making sure he really was okay.
It’s been eleven years since this wonderful person came into the world. I went from being pregnant and homeless to finding a job, using the strength of needing to provide for him to push for a promotion and a raise. I had never done that before. I’m the first person from both sides of my family to get a degree, and I am about to pursue my Masters. I’m married now with two more children. As for my son, he’s incredible. He tested at 121 IQ, was recruited by one of the top schools in the country, has skipped a grade, and is in the Gifted and Talented Program. He has a compassionate heart. At age five, he started fundraising for charity. His efforts earned him the recognition of actor Patrick Dempsey. He plans on being an astronaut, and a former astronaut informed me that he’s a natural, and I should do whatever it takes to make his dream come true.
He’s not my rapist’s son. He’s not a daily reminder of the abuse I endured. He is MY son, my miracle, and I am so blessed to have him.
Today’s guest post comes to us from Sara Gerardo. Sara volunteers her time at her local crisis pregnancy center. She resides in Texas with her three children.