A poem to survivors as we March for Life.
Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you, fellow survivor.
I know living in this world, where abortion is talked about in hushed tones or angry outbursts
makes you want to be invisible.
Why would you ever share your story with anyone if that’s the response you will get?
Judged.
No matter if you share your story publicly or not.
No matter what you believe about abortion, yourself.
Judged.
For living, and not dying.
Maybe you felt invisible already.
You have for years.
Knowing that other people, those that should love you, still wish that you had died.
Maybe they tell you that. Their feelings are no secret.
To them, you are invisible.
And so invisible, you become
to everyone.
When people talk about abortion, you wonder, do they even know you exist?
Are you invisible EVERYWHERE?
You’re not invisible to me.
I carry your names, your stories with me, wherever I go.
And although I may never share your name publicly, I never forget that you exist.
That we exist.
Whether we’re talked about or accepted into our families, society…
We are not invisible to one another.
And so as I march in Washington this week, I march not just for the children who have lost or will lose their lives to abortion, their mothers, fathers and family members who are affected by it, but I march for you.
You deserve to be marched for, too. No matter what has happened in your life, no matter what your beliefs, the reality is that you survived something traumatic, horrific.
You are not invisible.
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