I wrote this piece a little over a week after turning 61. At the time I was entering my 3rd year of working to end the practice of abortion. Like many nights, I sat down to write and had nothing. When that happens, all I have to do is relax and think about my grandsons, and the words seem to come from somewhere else. More and more as I struggle to find the words I want to write, I just start typing and before I know it the words are just there, and then they’re gone. I can read something I wrote a couple days ago and I feel like I’m reading it for the first time. Maybe I’m just getting old or maybe it’s something else. Whatever it is, I won’t stop writing until I stop breathing.
Some nights I sit down at my computer and have no idea what I’ll write about in my quest to end abortion. This is one of those nights. When I’m at a loss for words I think about my 2 grandsons and the series of miracles that brought them into my life. I remember the final embrace on Sunday night as I secured my oldest grandson into his car seat and my feelings as I walked to my front door, missing him and his little brother before they had even left my driveway. I treasure the time I spend with my grandsons and grieve for those who will never feel the unconditional love and trust of a child of their child.
Every child; every human being is a universally unique miracle from the moment of conception. As a child I depended entirely upon others for my very survival, just like…
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