From a Cathedral in Italy

“I stared hard at the shot of the cathedral on the TV. How could I even begin to describe it? But say my life depended on it. Say my life was being threatened by an insane guy who said I had to do it or else.”
—Raymond Carver, “Cathedral”

It’s not just about abortion. By restricting funding and forcing clinics to close, recent legislation has already inhibited women’s access to wellness visits, contraception, STD screenings, and other family planning services, thereby putting women’s health at greater risk and limiting the resources that could prevent unwanted pregnancies. These laws make it so the poorest among us will have the least at their disposal. These laws may in fact increase the number of unwanted pregnancies, but I highly doubt they will decrease the number of abortions. People will do what they have to do, as they always have, whether that means going out of state (or out of country, if you live in Chile) or something far worse.

Santiago, Chile

Yet, legislators pass these laws, most recently in Texas.

Meanwhile, Chile may finally give victims of rape and incest who become pregnant by their abusers access to therapeutic abortion, thanks to the efforts of Amnesty International and several other NGOs. Things may in fact be about to change even though that change felt so far off so recently here. Ironically, my rights as a U.S. citizen in charge of my health and reproduction felt far from change as well recently, but here they are, subject to a catalyzing mix of government and power and religion that says my physical and emotional health are actually not very important.

How strange, these twists and turns.

Does it help to know my story? For many of you, the answer has been ‘Yes.’ You’ve proven that time and again with your support. And now I have the good will of strangers, sending hearts, responding to my words about Lorenzo. But I know that isn’t the whole story. I know there is judgment, whether or not it’s directed my way. I read about it all too often in the hateful comments added to articles written by other brave women.

So, I offer another part of the story that can maybe act as something of a bridge. My aunt was recently in Italy, standing in a Cathedral in Siena. As she looked up, she saw framed hearts all over the high walls. They were offerings from those honoring their loved ones. They were expressions of gratitude to Mary, symbols of devotion, perhaps thank you’s for answered prayers or acceptance of those that went unanswered. My aunt felt overwhelmed in the presence of this symbolized love, this devotion to the Mother figure from whom we seek comfort and understanding. Then she overwhelmed me, saying that Lorenzo was blessed to have me as his mother. That I had also brought the pain of another onto my shoulders to alleviate suffering.

La cattedrale metropolitana di
Santa Maria Assunta, Siena, Italy

“Never was the sacrifice so clear,” she said.

This is not a direct comparison of saint and sinner, immortal spirit and mortal human. This is about motherhood and suffering and alleviation and love and seeing where we are similar in something often viewed so differently. I hope things like devotion and faith can also apply to stories of loss, not just stories of birth. I hope I am not considered outside the holiness of this cathedral or the sacredness of an open field of grass or the borders of Texas or North Dakota or Arkansas because I chose to alleviate my child’s senseless suffering.

We are not so different, me and these politicians. The vast majority of them just haven’t had to choose, so instead they choose for others, but don’t make their sacrifice. Again, when I say that, it’s not just about abortion.

 

“‘Close your eyes now,’ the blind man said to me. I did it. I closed them just like he said.
‘Are they closed?’ he said. ‘Don’t fudge.’
‘They’re closed,’ I said.
‘Keep them that way,’ he said. He said, ‘Don’t stop now. Draw.’
So we kept on with it. His fingers rode my fingers as my hand went over the paper. It was like nothing else in my life up to now.
Then he said, ‘I think that’s it. I think you got it,’ he said. ‘Take a look. What do you think?’
But I had my eyes closed. I thought I’d keep them that way for a little longer. I thought it was something I ought to do.
‘Well? he said. ‘Are you looking?’
My eyes were still closed. I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn’t feel like I was inside anything.
‘It’s really something,’ I said.”—Raymond Carver, “Cathedral”

 

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