Almost four weeks ago I broke my hand. It has been hard to write to say the least and I wish I could say I am using the time to relax, because that was my intention. But as always it has been busy. My plan, I hope, is to use the last week and a half to do just that.
One thing that struck me, and is why I am telling you this, was when I left the urgent care after learning my hand was indeed broken, quite well the doctor remarked, and with the threat of surgery looming over my head, I walked out the doors and lost it. I broke down. I was left with overwhelming emptiness, shame, and anger.
A couple days later, I thought about it and realized that was the same feeling I felt when I left the abortion clinic. In an instant I was brought back to that place. I saw myself walk out those doors, and down the steps. In that moment I felt nothing and everything.
I grieved deeply.
As I sit here and type one handed (of which I am getting really good at and thank-you spell check!), I am looking forward to the days of one-handed typing to be behind me. But like my abortion, lessons that are harder learned will be with me forever and maybe that is a good thing for it was George Santayana who said, “those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”