Journal
of a Living Lady #107
Nancy White Kelly
Charlie is twenty-one today. This column is dedicated to him. Happy Birthday, son.
With the recurring cancer, I never thought I’d live to see the day you reached true adulthood. I think a few doctors are surprised too. How thankful I am for the fine young man you are. I would not trade you for a thousand other sons or a zillion dollars. I would give my life for you in a heart beat. That is how most mothers are, but I feel blessed beyond measure. Let me tell you why.
Even though your dad and I wanted a large family, it was evident early in our marriage that this was unlikely. After three miscarriages spanning several years, we were discouraged. Yet, we were somewhat able to fill that emptiness by raising other people’s children. Foster parenting was rewarding, but definitely not easy. Each time one of those children left, sometimes after years in our care, my fractured heart ached so deeply I thought I would literally die.
Though Dad and I didn’t see it at the time, all twelve of those children who came through our home were part of God’s plan, both for them and for us. Still, we longed for a child of our very own.
I remember one specific day going to a spot in the woods where the sunlight boldly shone through the tree tops as if a beam straight from heaven. I literally begged the Lord to give us a son who would be flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone. Faith is not believing God can. It is believing that he will. I believed with every ounce of my being that God would give us that son.
In the fall of 1979, very early in your gestation, I had a scary experience. The pregnancy test clearly indicated we were expecting. The doctor said we were going to have a baby. But, after a mini-miscarriage crisis, I just had to be sure you were still alive.
I read in the morning paper that there was a clinic in Atlanta that was giving free pregnancy tests and sonograms. Dad went to work and, unknowing to him, I drove downtown.
Several young teens huddled in the crowded waiting room. Some girls had boyfriends, but most were alone. After reading a couple of magazines, a nurse escorted me to a tiny examining room and instructed me to undress. She left the door slightly ajar. Through the hallway I watched a haggardly-looking doctor hastily checking patients behind make-shift curtains. Eerie moans stirred my curiosity. Before I had time to reflect on the strange scenario, the nurse reappeared and squeezed some cold, gooey gel on my stomach.
“Is this your first baby?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied, not wishing to explain further. She quietly moved the small disc around my belly and listened with a stethoscope. In a few seconds she announced that she had found your heart beat. I was ecstatic. I could see your tiny heart pulsating on a video screen.
“How far along am I?”
The nurse removed a tiny calculator and ruler from the pocket of her smock. “About sixteen weeks,” she replied. “When do you want to have your abortion?”
I shot up from that cold metal table clutching the white paper drape tightly to my body. The fiercest tigers of India could not have pulled it away from me.
“Abortion!” Is that what this is, an abortion clinic?”
The nurse looked puzzled. “Of course. Didn’t you know?”
“No, I didn’t know.” I grabbed my clothes from the wall hook. My voice quivered with emotion. “That doctor in there will be doing hysterectomies on Brahma bulls before this baby ends up in the bucket of a butcher parlor.”
The stunned nurse turned toward the door and gave a sigh of relief. “That is the most refreshing thing I have heard all day.”
So, Charlie, you escaped being an abortion victim that day. Very soon afterwards I was happily wearing maternity clothes. Excitement filled our home and our community. Your Dad was a strutting 48 year-old arthritic rooster. Our church friends teasingly called us Abraham and Sarah
Even today strangers often assume you are our grandson. Well, in a way they are right. You are a grand son, Charlie, all that Dad and I had hoped and prayed you would become.
We don’t know what lies ahead for you now, son. Dad and I have done our job. We have loved you, educated you, and have tried to impart some important values in the process.
Today you set sail on the sea of adult life. Let the Bible be your compass. We are confident that our God, your God, will continue to direct your journey.
Happy Birthday, our man-child, and Bon Voyage.
Love always,
