My Name is Kate and I Just Killed My Baby

by Duane L. Ostler

  Part of me hated to admit it, but a lot of what Dad said made sense. It wasn't logical that one killing justified another. Just because I killed Jonathon that didn't justify my killing someone else. Of course, that argument seemed a little shaky when I considered that the person I was trying to kill was just worthless me. That shouldn't count, after all. Who would care anyway, if I kicked the bucket? Only my Dad. It wasn't really killing, was it, if you were just snuffing out a worthless life?

  Would Jonathon care? What would he think of it? I knew the question was crazy of course, since he was dead anyway. But if he was up in heaven looking down on me, what would he be thinking? Would he want me to kill myself as punishment for having killed him? Would that make him happy? Somehow that image didn't seem quite right. I just could not imagine Jonathon grinning in glee as he watched in heaven while I bled to death and died.

  So, what would he feel? What would he want me to do? What advice would this innocent little person that I had so carelessly killed have to give to me, his murderer? The thought was disturbing. I didn't know the answer. All I knew was that I could not imagine him being happy if I killed myself.

  I needed answers, but I wasn't getting any by just sitting and thinking. So I asked a nurse for a Bible to read. After all, Dad had talked about how Jesus suffered for me and all mankind, and he'd talked about how forgiving God was. I wasn't quite sure he had it right. I'd always thought God was stern and almost mean, and he didn't mind if one of his children who was wicked got what he deserved. Was he really that forgiving?

  The Bible the nurse brought me was the opening of a new life for me. I quickly started reading and was instantly amazed. I just couldn't get over this man Jesus. Although I'd heard stories about him all my life at church, it was as if I was discovering him for the very first time. And what a remarkable person he was!

  For example, instead of pursuing pleasure or money or a college degree or any of the other stupid things that I and everyone else are always going after, he just went around helping people. He was as poor as dirt but he didn't care. All he seemed to care about was helping people. If he saw someone hurting, he tried to help them. That amazed me. Why would he do that? What did he get out of it? Most of the people he helped either didn't do what he told them afterward, or were just plain ungrateful. Like the people he told to keep his miracles quiet--they usually went blabbing it all over town! And when he healed ten dudes who had a disgusting skin disease, only one of them bothered to thank him.

  I found myself wondering as I read if I wasn't just being put on. Surely nobody could be THAT good. Nobody I'd ever met was that good. But whether I wondered or doubted or not, one thing was for sure. I WANTED it to be true. I wanted to believe there was someone out there like that who cared so much for others, and for me. Somehow it made me feel better to think there are people like that.

  And then in one of those rare moments when my feeble brain actually has an insight, I realized one day that there ARE people like that out there. Dad was one. So was Mom, at least before she lost her mind because of what I did to her. Clarice's Mom was like that too. These were people who loved someone else so much, they would do almost anything for them, even if it caused them pain or death.

  And then suddenly I felt just that much worse. These examples were all parents! The people they cared about were their children! Why was I such a disgusting worm of a person that I killed my child instead of caring for them like all these other parents?

  I threw my Bible in the corner when that realization came to me. Then I finally turned on the TV and started watching mindless game shows, and pointless competitions where they always try to make it sound like winning the competition is so important it's like life or death. That's complete garbage of course, but the people on those shows do a pretty good job of acting when they get all worked up over nothing.

  The Bible sitting in the corner started gnawing at me. It just sat there taunting me, making me wish I could throw it out the window and get it out of my sight. But of course my windows were locked, since they didn't want me to jump out one of them. I decided to ask the nurse to take the Bible away.

  But when she came in to make sure I wasn't trying to stand on my head in an effort to pass out, I found myself thanking her for the Bible instead. What weirdness was this? Why was my mouth refusing to do what my brain told it to?

  After that I went back to reading the Bible, but this time for a different reason. It was no longer to see if God was forgiving, but to look for evidence that it was all a big hoax. And that's precisely when God's forgiveness started jumping out at me from all the pages. And before long I forgot to look for hoax evidence at all.

  The one that really hit me was the woman taken in adultery. I could identify with her, since I'd done the same thing. She was a despicable person, and the people who brought her to Jesus were right in demanding that she be punished. Being killed on the spot seemed a little extreme of course, but most probably she was the type of person who would have had an abortion if she could, so maybe it was justified.

  Jesus' reaction to her blew me away. First he tells everyone there to go ahead and kill her if they felt they were sinless enough to do the job. They all felt guilty and left while he wrote in the dirt with his finger. He was obviously giving them a chance to leave without embarrassment. When he finally looked up, she was the only there. "Where are those thine accusers" he asked her in that strange Bible language they used back then for some reason. "Doth no man condemn thee?"

  "No man, Lord," she answered, probably surprised to still be alive. She knew she was worthy of death, and maybe felt she deserved it to. Just like me.

  "Neither do I condemn thee," said Jesus. "Go thy way and sin no more."

  I started balling at that point. I just couldn't help it. Why would he forgive her? What good would it do? She DESERVED at least some punishment after all, for what she had done. Especially since, if what my Dad had said was right, Jesus KNEW he would be suffering later on for her awful sin, feeling the agony of it the same way she felt it. Why did he just forgive her and let her go?

  I couldn't really figure it out. All I knew was that he did. All he wanted was for her to not do it again, and it was only too obvious she wouldn't. Neither would I, of course. No way would I ever have an abortion again. I didn't know how the "Dearie" lady and Dorothy Malk could have more than one. I never could.

  The fact that Jesus forgave this woman made me feel good somehow. She was worthless, and so was I. If he could forgive her, maybe he could forgive me too.

  But I couldn't forgive me. Even if God forgave, I could not. What I had done was just too despicable. How could I forgive such a horrible deed? Wouldn't that be the same as saying it was all right?

  No, not quite. When Jesus forgave that adultery woman, he didn't say it was all right. He said the opposite by telling her not to do it again. He knew how bad it was, but he still forgave. How could he do that?

  Every night I continued having the same dreams about Jonathon. He was always there, just watching me. After awhile I began to think maybe he was just waiting for me to pick up the abortion knives in some of my dreams and use them on myself instead of him. As soon as I got the idea, I tried it too. But it didn't work. Instead of causing me agonizing pain, any knife I used just disappeared the instant it touched me. That's the way it always is in a dream. And then I'd look up and Jonathon would still be looking at me. And it seemed at times that he had a tiny little tear in his eyes.

  I kept reading the Bible. I'd become fascinated by the stories about this Jesus person who seemed to live at such a higher level than everyone else around him. I was amazed that he never spouted off at all the nonsense and stupidity he saw all the time in other people. The only people he spoke bad about were hypocrites, the people who thought they were doing everything right but really weren't. And even then he mainly said things that would help them realize t
heir stupidity if they would only listen. He was obviously hoping they'd realize what lousy hypocrites they were and do something to change it.

  It was his death on the cross that really got to me. There he was dying in agony, and suddenly for no good reason he suddenly said, "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do." I balled again when I read that. He was talking about the soldiers who killed him of course, pointing out that they were just fulfilling their orders and didn't know they were killing their God.

  And then the thought came: Did I know what I had done when I had my abortion? Did I act knowingly? The answer was obvious--of course I did! I knew I was killing Jonathon! I'd done it knowingly, unlike those soldiers. I'd never felt quite right about it before I did it, but I did it anyway. I didn't deserve forgiveness like those soldiers did.

  But then a little voice came into my mind. "Did you really know?" it asked. "If you had known you would be stopping its heart--if you had known the awful things Dorothy Malk said, would you have done it?" I knew instantly the answer was no. I definitely would not have done it if I had known. So did I really know what I was doing?

  I could never really answer that question. In a way I did know, and in a