Suppose you hear about someone you know
Who has a child with a difficult pregnancy.

Suppose you hear that the mother will go to the hospital some day
And be tested,
And the test results will indicate the child has some genetic disorders,
Something which may cause deformities and an early death.

Suppose you hear that the mother will enter the hospital;
That doctors will induce labor;
That the baby will be delivered and allowed to die.

“She must die!”  Those are the thoughts I heard.

There was no sound as small, feeble, I turned
Put my face to my mother’s womb’s wall
My home my prison now, closed, dark and small
And though I could not weep, wept bitterly.
Exile, slow death soon must come to me.

You may say it is for the best this way;
Easier for everyone that I go away
And in some quiet corner quiet lie,
Comfortably of course, and silent die
No burden be to myself or other
Nor smile know, not kind word, father, mother,
Or stretch my arms to be lifted up, hand
Reach for face I will never see, stand
With God’s will at the all embracing sea.

I will pray for you from eternity
That all who choose death may grow and live
And know my love and peace.  My love forgives.


About Peadar Ban

There isn't much to say. I am here. I am here. I am here.
This entry was posted in A Newer Better Way, Poetry, Truth and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to NO!

  1. joan says:

    profoundly expressed, Peter. i too weep with this holy unborn child and pray, especially today, with the intersession of Saint Therese of the Child Jesus.

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