By Richard J. (Rick) Hilber
About nine months, a pregnant woman inseminated, houses and hosts a human fetus. She is the person, the family, the city, the county, the state, the U.S. of A., and the United Nations to this unborn human being, and the one true god.
The fetus is taking every nutrient, every molecule of oxygen, every good vibe into its being and converting what is good and necessary into its very life, really life itself. In some pregnancy some of the time, disorder occurs. Just often enough to instill hopefully a small quantum of fear in every virgin, and should, and a great deal larger quantum in every inseminating male.
There is a disruption, some infiltration, or some genetic string that is amiss. A troubled pregnancy becomes a fetus that may not have what it needs to ever reach the birth canal and its own separateness from its host.
The woman goes to her doctor who being disinterested (not the state, not the father, not the family), speaks for the pregnancy as to whether it can succeed. Will the fetus be born? What are the chances for the child that will be born? What will the quality of life of this child be like?
The woman feels like she has some information and an awareness of the consequences. In the dark of night, she goes to her knees and weeps. It is important that she do this, and to her that she not be comforted or coddled, or lied to, or told what to do.
She tells her husband and then her father that the fetus must be in her humble understanding aborted from her womb. Each tells her for the sake of society that if she does abort the fetus, he will disown her.
There are no winners here for a curse is on the fetus, the host, and the family that is riven by the disorder in the pregnancy and also in the host. The husband and father feel righteous, justified in setting limits on the wife and daughter that she can not set for herself apparently.
There is a failure of mutuality. It is cold and disconcerting, even if it is not indifferent. God seems to be standing just to the right, behind her husband, and when she looks again, just to the left of her father’s shoulder.
The woman reflects again. She prays about the losses with which she is confronted. She goes to her spiritual adviser. The adviser tells her to visit the chapel and to beg for God’s mercy on her and her unborn child. She does this, says the words, and she feels arid and abandoned. She walks out of the chapel, and she collapses.
An aneurysm in the main artery to her womb has provided her the exit, the one with no exit. She miscarries there on the floor. She has her answer. Her prayer was answered? I don't know. What do you think?
Twenty-five years down the road now. She is holding her first grandchild, and she smiles warmly and cuddles the infant, and feels whole. God has indeed been merciful to her.
Feeling gratitude in her heart, she stays very present in the life of her grandchild, the only family member who sees double while doing so.
Age does that to us all, doesn’t it? We go into the room. We go down on our knees. We weep for what could have been. No one comforts us, and no one should. We either have resolve or we don’t, to live the life God gave us, or didn’t, and we just had what it takes to make a life for ourselves in a cold, indifferent universe.
©2015 by its author Richard J. (Rick) Hilber. All rights reserved.
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