In Memoriam

Dear Dr. Tiller,

The one year anniversary of your murder is coming up in about two weeks. May 31, 2009. I can't believe it has already been one year. It's weird that so much time has gone by. It seems like not that long ago I was crying at your vigil. At the same time, it seems like four lifetimes ago. I don't tell people anymore, "Oh, just get to Wichita. Just get to Wichita. Don't worry about anything else." I can't tell anyone that and women have babies now. Dead babies. Severely deformed babies. Moms have died. I have gotten used to that fact. Depressing, right?

I still think about you, almost everyday. It's not the deep, stabbing pain that it once was, but I still cry about you being gone, sometimes. Probably too often. I don't know.

I have a picture of you hanging in my apartment. One of my friends asked me if you were my grandpa, and I smiled and explained who you are. She felt bad for asking but I told her that's why I have it there. So I can remember to remember you. And remember how you made the world a better place and to remind me to keep fighting the good fight.

Speaking of, it's definitely been a tough fight, lately. Lots of people trying to pass laws to take away a woman's right to control her body. Lots of extreme right people disseminating misinformation and generally fucking stuff up for everyone. Dr. Carhart is still kicking ass and taking names (obvi). Other doctors have also stepped up to the plate to help pick up the pieces. I just don't understand why it still feels like there are still a million tiny little pieces, all over the floor. Like when you drop a vase on the floor and no matter how many times you sweep and vacuum, you're still stepping on the glass five years later.

Anyway, the main point of this is that I miss you. You are not forgotten and your legacy continues to live on.

Much Love From Your Fellow Abortioneer,
Mr. Banana Grabber

Rant.

It's my turn to blog and I don't have anything to say. I am emotionally drained. I saw Precious last night which for me felt like I put in another day at the office. My friend asked me how I made it through the movie without crying and I told her if I cried at that stuff I would spend most of my workdays crying. I feel burned out. I feel bitter. I am angry I have a job which is very demanding and I am changing people's lives and doing good, and I have to spend my free time defending it. Some people would say that I am bitter and burned out because it is God finally intervening and showing me the light.

This is not true.

When you hear about the worst things that people do to each other, to their wives, to their daughters, to their families, over and over and over and over -- that is what happens. You get mad. You push it in the back corner of your mind.

When your coworkers get murdered it's hard not to get bitter. When I have to organize a vigil and go to CVS and buy 100 tealights because one of the best people I have ever or will ever know is dead, I get bitter.

When people in the government are working to take your rights away it's hard not to get angry.

When you hear how hard some of these women have it, it is difficult not to get upset. When people don't even know how deeply disenfranchised many of these women are. What it would be like to walk a mile in her shoes. What it would be like to have a monthly budget composed of $237 from food stamps for you and your two small children. And that's it. People don't even know and they make judgments and want to decide this woman's life for her. It's not fair.

This is why I don't have anything to say today.

Every Time a Bell Rings...

I worked with a young woman about a year ago that I found myself thinking about over the holidays, hoping she was okay. Let's call her Sarah.

Sarah was 20. She already had a two year old daughter. They were living with her mother, who was addicted to crack. Her only other family member in a 500 mile radius was her uncle, who was also addicted to crack. Her father and brother had passed away. I didn't probe into how/why they died because that didn't seem right. Anyway, she was raped and found herself pregnant.

Sarah wasn't too far along, and needed to get a couple hundred dollars together to be seen. Even though she was unemployed and living off of food stamps, she was able to get the funds needed together by pawning a few items and borrowing money from friends she had in the area.

The morning of her procedure, she called me in tears. Her mother had stolen her money from her purse and used the money to buy crack. So Sarah was not going to be getting her abortion today and we were back to square one in terms of trying to find some money for her.

I just remember feeling my heart sink in my chest because I knew she had worked so hard and pretty much exhausted all her resources the first time around.

So I encouraged her not to give up hope and that we could keep working on this, maybe I could call some local funds, some national funds, etc. We talked about her living situation, about her mother's addiction. Sarah cried and cried saying she felt horrible her daughter had to grow up in a house with a drug user and how she wanted to get out but she had nowhere to go. I gave her some numbers for shelters in her area. There were only two unfortunately, but it was at least a start.

Then she dropped off the map. I tried calling her many times, but her number had been disconnected. I wasn't sure what had happened but I was obviously concerned. When I can't reach her on the only number I have, though, there isn't much more I can do.

Sarah calls me back five or six weeks later. She had been trying to get money together, trying to get into a shelter, trying to take care of her daughter, trying to find food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She had been able to cobble together a very small amount of money. Sadly, the shelters were full and the cost of her procedure had gone up dramatically. She didn't even have 10% of what she needed to get seen. I called every fund I could think of and I was able to get $200. Most every fund I called was out of money and they wished they could help, but they couldn't. We were still way off what we needed and it seemed like we were pretty much out of luck.

The next morning, Sarah calls me crying. Her mother had stolen her money again. Sarah had followed my advice and kept her money on her body at all times. She had hidden the money in her pajamas and her mother waited until she was asleep and stole her daughter's money off her body while was she was sleeping.

I told Sarah we still had the money from the fund, we could try to work something out and she said yes yes ok. She was going to keep working on it.

Then she dropped off the map again. I never heard back from her. Ever again.

She never got her abortion to my knowledge, but I am not sure.

I find myself wondering from time to time about Sarah and her daughter. I hope she is okay and I hope she was able to get out of her living situation. I hope she was able to get her wings.