August 22, 1993.
My grandmother died that day. She was surrounded by family, even me, which at the time was a miracle in itself. I was a drug addict living in a VW van with my boyfriend. I was also pregnant.
Even at the height of my addition I was never stupid. I never pretended that a cocaine and heroin addicted woman could give birth to a healthy baby. I also never pretended that a homeless drifter would make much of a parent.
I had my abortion on August 25, 1993, three days after my grandmother died. The procedure was uncomfortable but not painful. I have never regretted my abortion, though several years later I went through a “born-again” phase during which my friends told me that Ishould regret it. I just couldn’t. I was a drug addict for heaven’s sake! What kind of life could I have given a child?
I am in my late 30s now. I have been in recovery for 13 years. I have two Master’s degrees and am a successful executive. I also have a partner and a son. We are Jewish and observant. I do not advertise that I had an abortion all those years ago, but I am not ashamed. I speak up when I think it is warranted.
My name is Barbara and I had an abortion. I am not sorry.
