September 4, 2057
Instead of the usual “What I did on my summer vacation” composition, my teacher has told us to write a letter to a past civilization. Why did I choose the most violent and barbaric era in modern history to write to? Oddly enough, it is to thank a small group of people for my very existence. My grandmother, who will be sixty-eight this fall, has often told us the horror stories of your age; the bigotry, the selfishness and hatred, but she shows the most pain when she speaks of abortion.
Let me first ease your mind by telling you that today with artificial placenta and other medical technology, the human pre-born is being routinely re-moved from the womb, treated and returned safely. Knowledge of foetal development is so widespread that no longer can outlandish lies be told about the un-born. Pro-abortion support is almost totally confined to small groups of people in humanist cult groups.
But back to the reason for this letter. As my grandmother told me, it was the spring of 1989. Abortion mills were operating at full capacity, murdering thousand of children per year in the name of convenience and “choice “. Many were opposed to this, but paranoia and pro-abortion rhetoric were firmly implanted in the minds of the government and the judicial system. Unbelievably, the unborn were left without any legal rights whatsoever.
My great grandmother, a “feminist’’, as they were known back then, became pregnant. She felt that she was to young to take care of a child at that time, and being in school with no meaning support, she decided to have abortion. On the day of her appointment she got of the bus a block from the abortuary see approximately fifty people blocking the front entrance .She made her way to the back entrance blocked also. The people were singing and praying.
Police were in attendance carrying protesters from the doorways to a waiting paddy wagon, but the process was very slow. She stood there for while, angry, till a young woman handed her a pamphlet and asked if she needed help. She took it but turned and walked away without looking at the woman’s face. At a pay phone nearby, she called to re-schedule her appointment. “Next Friday”, said the voice at the other end. On the bus ride home she read the pamphlet and in the next few days spent much time to think about what to do.
She never did go back and 5 months later gave birth to my grandmother, who later gave birth to my father. He and my mother had 5 children, I being the youngest.
It took close to one hundred people to save the life of one child that day, but the effects of that brave, unselfish act are still being felt in my time and will be forever. A modern historian has called the rescue movement “A speck of sanity in an insane world.” I thank God He called you there that day.”
(signed John Doe) submitted by Guy Chamartin, St. Anne, Man.