November 26, 2013 – 9:00 a.m.

It is another early morning – up and at the Smithson house by 6:30 a.m. My husband drops me off at their twin home and heads to his own place of employ.

The house is dark, but Mike* is awake and fixing his morning cup of coffee. I whisper “good morning” to him. He smiles and whispers the greeting back to me. I grab a pillow and throw blanket and place them on the couch and lay down as he starts up his truck and leaves for his job. I might have fallen asleep, or I might have just blinked my eyes slowly – but there is little Anna in her pajamas looking at me with her big adorable eyes. I get her some breakfast.

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Written in my journal October 7, 2014 around 2:30 a.m.

It is another early morning – up and at the Smithson* house by 6:30 a.m. My husband drops me off at their home and heads to his own place of employ.

The house is dark, but Mike* is awake and fixing his morning cup of coffee. I whisper “good morning” to him. He smiles and whispers the greeting back to me. I grab a pillow and throw blanket and place them on the couch and lay down as he starts up his truck and leaves for his job. I might have fallen asleep, or I might have just blinked my eyes slowly – but there is little Anna* in her pajamas looking at me with her big adorable eyes. I get her some breakfast.

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Written in my journal October 7th around 2:00 a.m.

I drove downtown around six-thirty that evening. I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat, locked the doors, put the keys in my pocket, and started walking. As I walked, I looked around at the other pedestrians and cars passing by. It looked like a typical day. But this wasn’t a typical day. I was going to a sacred place, a place where many desperate women go to get help to protect their very lives and to assert the most vital part of our humanity – our right to choose.

Last Thursday, as I sat on Lucy’s* couch telling her about what it was like losing a second child the words flowed from me like an underground spring that was bursting through the ground for the first time.

“Our choices are more important that people realize. Our choices are what make us who we are. When you take someone’s choice away, you strip them of their humanity.”

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November 26, 2013 – around 2:00 p.m.

I feel alone. I feel small. I feel unimportant.

I feel despair and hopelessness take over.

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