Walter’s heart is not perfect, but he fits into our lives perfectly.
Each year on January 22, millions across the country “March for Life” on the anniversary of Roe v. Wade – the decision federally legalizing abortion. An appeal of this would return the decision to the hands of each state individually. The largest march, taking place in Washington DC each year, seems to be appropriately met with cold, dreary weather reminiscent of a Dicken’s novel, as if recognizing the cold, dreary reality of abortion.
The day struck me especially hard this year as a new mother, and even more, as a mother who many would deem “justified” in terminating my own child.
He may not live.
He will know pain at a young age.
He will have multiple surgeries.
He will have limitations.
He may have a decreased quality of life.
He may have a shorter life.
He may have any number of complications.
He may have developmental delays.
He will have a lifetime of medications, doctors appointments, and procedures.
In other words: Walter’s life will not be “perfect”; but then we never expected it to be so.
The reasons above are all considered “valid” reasons for abortion, among any number of other situations where perfection has fallen short: circumstance, timing, financial shortcoming, and so on. But this – even among so many claiming a “Pro-Life” position, is the ultimate trump: medical precaution.
Though I have alluded to it many times, I have never detailed how our doctors were obligated to discuss abortion with me once Walter’s defect was diagnosed, because it was, and remains still, an open and stinging wound. Alone, with my husband asked to leave the room without opinion, I signed multiple forms acknowledging my understanding of Walter’s defects and my “abortive rights”. I can only imagine how many women have felt in more desperate situations and of more desperate circumstance, when learning of this deemed “imperfect” life within them.
Suddenly, my much wanted and anticipated child was devalued by the State. A mere imperfection of heart somehow made him less a person, less needed, less cherished, and less worth raising. How, might I ask, will this be handled should we find a cancer gene, an IQ factor, or find more indicators of an adult’s life detectable in utero? We stand on the brink of a society and government which determines who should live and who should die based on their anatomy and DNA. How far is that than a quest for blonde hair and blue eyes? How, at the slightest glimpse of “falling short” do we consider execution?
But then, we never expected perfection, anyway.
For our perfection is found not on this Earth.
So there you have it: our smiling, thriving, lovable four-month old. Edging on 12 pounds, growing too long for his clothes, and brightening my days with his laughter. Every day is a gift with our imperfectly perfect little angel.
Wally’s appointments have been going as well as they could, so we are still in a waiting game until the appropriate time is pin-pointed for his full repair.
We’ve been enjoying some beautiful Southern California January weather here, and though the sun may deceive you, the air still has a crispness to it characteristic of our winter months.
We played in the grass in white denim, felt the dew, and enjoyed discovering what feet can do. Walter loves touching EVERYTHING, and is as curious as he is cute. (Which in my book, is just about infinite.) We refuse to let a day go by without a sense of awe and fascination for one another and the world around us.