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My name is Kim and I'm 44, the mother of 2 little boys-9 and 11, happily married and I'm a nurse. As good as my life is, I have a little pain in my heart that will always be with me and I'd like to share it.

I was raised Southern Baptist. I first became pregnant in the 1970's during a time that the Southern Baptist Convention was sanctioning abortion on demand for women whose "mental or emotional health" might be threatened. My Baptist sunday school teaching, bible reading mother insisted on an abortion. After all, our church approved it! Unfortunately, I did not clean up my act after this first abortion and start leading a chaste life. Despite the use of birth control, I became pregnant 2 more times in the 1980's. By this time I had said farewell to being Baptist and basically classified myself as an off and on seeker of God. Having a 2nd and 3rd abortion was not difficult for me because I felt that based on the first experience this was no moral big deal. I add here that all 3 abortions were 1st trimester ones---not that this was any easier on my little babies.

One afternoon about a year ago I was watching a show on channel EWTN about post-abortion-syndrome--which is a kind of depression related to having had an abortion. I decided I had never had it. A Catholic priest encouraged all women who had had an abortion to call the Project Rachel Post Abortion hotline for counseling. I decided to call and when the counselor answered the phone I told her straight up that I had had 3 abortions but never had all these feelings they were talking about. Then I started crying and crying, but I didn't understand why I was crying. I was crying so hard that I couldn't speak for a good while. What was happening to me?

The counselor told me I needed to go through some steps. They included the following. 1. Ask God to show you what sexes they were. 2. Give them names. 3. Create a memorial to them. 4. Write letters to them asking them to forgive me.

When she said the part about asking God to show me what sexes they were I thought she was nuts. Yet at that very moment, I had this very strong feeling that I had had 2 girls and a boy. "Is that what they were God--2 girls and a boy?" I asked God over and over. How could I know if my brain didn't just come up with that combination?

For the next few weeks I worked very hard at hiding my depressed and sometimes distraught feelings from family and friends. I cried only when I was alone. I stopped wearing a seatbelt. I took late night walks on the road wearing dark clothing. I wasn't exactly suicidal, but I wanted to open myself up to a more likely possibility of death. As time passed I came in contact with a wonderful nun from the Mobile, Al. Project Rachel, and her counseling was very helpful.

One night in the midst of all these new feelings I went to work at the hospital. I have always nursed on adult floors, but this night I was pulled to the nursery. In 10 years of nursing, I have only been pulled to the nursery once. And when I got there, I was assigned just 3 babies---2 girls and a boy. That was a very tough night, and yet I knew God had let me know through this assignment that my feelings were correct. I had destroyed 2 little girls and a little boy.

I wrote my letters to Natalie, Miranda and Luke and buried them in a little garden outside of the Catholic church I had started attending. I covered the spot with pebbles, small shells and a stick cross. It's a barely noticeable memorial, but I know it's there. For about a month I crept out of the house after everyone was asleep and drove to the church to sit with my aborted children. I cried; I sang them lullabies; I talked to them; I told them about their brothers: I lay down in the dirt and kissed the little rocks and shells.

I recieved forgiveness and healing through the sacrament of reconciliation in the Roman Catholic Church. I became Catholic last Easter and work very hard voluntarily in the pro-life and post abortive healing services of my diocese.

In the incredible mercy of God,

Kim

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