Thirteen: Sons and Daughters

   I stared at the lines in the test, my heart feeling heavy. It couldn't be right. I didn't want this. We'd been so careful -- we'd had sex once since Willa was born and used a condom -- this couldn't be true. I leaned against the wall of the bathroom, attempting to hold back tears. Willa's cries pierced the air, as I stated back down at the test.

   I didn't want to be pregnant. 

   I wasn't emotionally prepared to deal with the stress of pregnancy, nor could Harrison and I afford the financial burden of another pregnancy and infant right now. 

   I didn't want to be pregnant. 

   So I wouldn't continue the pregnancy. 

   I'd have an abortion.

   The minute I made the desiccation, I felt lighter. I'd have to go through counseling, when I showed up at the clinic there would be protestors, there would be a waiting period, they'd have to show me an ultrasound... Why did people who claim they were pro-life not care about the emotional or physical well being of women? Why did they not care about the life of women?

   If have to tell Harrison I was doing it, talk to him about it. Some may say it's a rash choice, that once I was into my second trimester, my apprehensions would disapate or I should just put the child up for adoption, however adoption wouldn't solve the problem of me being pregnant for nine months. It wouldn't solve the problem of me not being able to emotionally handle another pregnancy so close to my first one or not being able to afford another pregnancy. 

   A sigh escaped my lips, as I entered the nursery. I picked up my baby girl, holding her closely.

   "Hi, darling. You're my little girl and your daddy and I love you so, so much." I gently kissed the top of her head, before sitting down in the armchair and adjusting my shirt so she could begin feeding. "You know, I want you to grow up in a world where you get to decide what's best for you and your body. I don't want you to have to face protestors who call you a murderer. Okay, baby girl? Well love you no matter what."

   Harrison found the pregnancy test as he got ready for bed; I absentmindedly hadn't tossed it away. We talked, I confided in him my worries and how I wanted an abortion. He told me he would support me, since it was my body and my choice. 

   Two weeks later -- after Harrison's payday -- we drove a few hours to the clinic. I talked to bright eyed, lovely, hospitable employees. Everyone was so kind, so non-judgemental. They told me this was an incredibly safe procedure, it wouldn't effect my fertility, and the foolish law  would mean I'd have to go through a waiting process. So I did. After I returned to the clinic and went had the termination, Harrison drove me home. 

   I didn't regret my decision. As I held my baby girl that night, I knew I'd made the right choice. As Colin asked me to read him a bedtime story, I knew I did what was best for me and my family. 

   I didn't want to be pregnant, my husband and I had used contraceptives to try and prevent pregnancy, but they failed, so I had an abortion. It was nothing to be ashamed of. 

   As time wore on, I watched my baby girl grow older: she started eating solid foods, began crawling, then walking, began speaking. On her third birthday, we broached the subject of having another child. I was emotionally and physically prepared to go through with a pregnancy and Harrison and I were ready to raise another child, as a team. 

   I stopped taking my birth control pills and we started trying, a few weeks later I joyfully saw the lines on the test appear. 

   I wanted to be pregnant. 

   And I was. 

   Nine months later, we welcomed our darling little Salem Christina.

   As our children aged from bubbly, bouncing babies to terrific, inquisitive toddlers to cute, carefree children...

   I knew that I'd made the right choice, all those years ago. I didn't regret my abortion. My husband didn't admonish me for having an abortion. I was loved and supported and I knew that if I did the same -- cherish, love, and support my family -- everything would be lovely.
We supported Colin when he decided to go on tour with his band, Blitz and the Boomerangs, instead of going to college. (Granted, we encouraged him to sign up for online college and got him to register for a music teacher education program!)

   We supported Will when he confessed to us that he felt like he was born in the wrong body and he was a boy, not a girl and his name was Will. On Christmas day, we gave our baby boy his first dose of hormones, so he could begin his transition. He burst into tears of joy, hugging us and claiming he'd never let go.

   And, we supported our four year old, who proclaimed he was going to be the grow up and be a professional cart wheeler/president/puppy dog, 'cause cartwheels were really fun, the president probably didn't have to wait in line at Disney World and they could give all the puppies and kitties homes, and our dogs didn't have to change out of their PJs to go to preschool!

   I loved my family and everything was lovely. 

  
Note: This is the last chapter of generation two! I felt like it was so muddled, because I didn't decide on an official heir and I went on an unofficial hiatus in the middle of it. I was just ready for a change, a new voice and this felt like a nice stopping place. Annnnnd, Colin will probably be the heir, 'cause I have the most compelling story line for him.

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Eight: Read this Letter When You're Eighteen

   I stand above the waterfall, my body weak, as blood drips down my fingers, splattering the gray rocks. The bottle of bleach, sitting in the dirt, the sleeping pills spilled across the lush grass, three fourths of the bottle in me, the other fourth partially crushed beneath my feet. I write sloppily on the stationary, my vision blurry, the realization that I have yet to write you my last letter before I leave...
   I've contemplated leaving before, not just you, not this town or Pittsburgh or any other city or person, but Earth, indefinitely... Don't believe that this is an irrational whimsy brought on by the anniversary of the announcement...
   I have been in and out of the mental hospital, ehem, they do not favor that term, they prefer psychiatric hospital, for over a decade and a half, Mr. Linus Levanoid paying them to keep me locked up, the voices aiding me on how to trick them into releasing me, aiding me on how to trick Linus into believing I am healthy.
   I attempted to do this before, on the first anniversary of me leaving you... I had to leave you; I don't think you understand how hard it is for me to have written every single letter. My attempt failed, for Linus, the bastard, found me... I didn't want to leave you, but I could never see you again and stupid, dumb, idiot the voices keep telling me, keep saying, I couldn't hold on. He sent me to the hospital. They said stop doing anything triggering, so I couldn't write to you. The one thing that kept the voices at bay, kept me thinking perhaps I had sanity, gone... For years, I lost count, they kept me there, drugged up. No one knew who I was; I refused to speak, I gave them a false name.
   Do not search for me, do not research my past, it is too painful for me and it will only cause more pain. This is only to give you closure. I know that everyone needs that.
   When you were three, I left you, strapped into your car seat, left you, well... I feel my heart slowing. I will skim over the details, for me am writing with borrow timme u were put into the foster care system, i ensured that, then i left the city, the state, to a county named after one of the greatlakes
   hem he, he is them, release from prison; they didn't even punish him with what he deserved, with what he did... bit under 3years, he stayed behind bars and me did not fear, me knew he would not come back And they were releasing him i knew nothing about him, only his name. blocked what his face looks like from my memory.
you. u not... i think i vomit... feel sick... dizzy this may be end i have more to sayy to you i dont know what tio say i love you and i know that you are reading this when you arent 18 you are about twentythree byut i though i start treadition iun our family
we write leeteer to one child even though i only have one child and they read it when they turn eighteeen i cant ai cant i have more buyt im shaking and the blood the bloodi sign it i puy the with love so that way if i dont finsih at aleast it seem doen and i tell you my realy name soi maybe you know who your mother was

with love,
e

Next Generation's First Chapter

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