I am unsure how many of you are aware that MY MOTHER ALSO MADE A CHOICE. Therefore I am here today, God's having blessed me with a good life of well past "threescore and ten years." Though she had been told HAVING ME COULD KILL HER, to my mother, my daddy, and the rest of the family, THERE WAS NO SUCH THING AS CHOICE. The choice was already made. With a plan for not only my life, but also for the lives I'd be part of in the future, I was implanted in my mother’s womb by the hand of God . Once they realized I was enjoying the water bed provided, my mother chose to lay ten weeks in early pregnancy in order to carry me, my dad moving her each morning from the upstairs bed to the downstairs couch, the reverse order each night, my aunt coming in to stay because help was necessary with my brother who was 3-and-1/2 years when I was born. The older brothers, 13 and 15, had school, sports, and each had jobs as golf caddies, scrapers of barnacles from boats, whatever they could find for odd jobs. I was a family project, and my being born in September of 1939, the same month and year of the actual start of WW2, life in our household was very soon to change with more drama than just what was going on on that island off the coast of Maine. Within two years those two teens were forced to grow up awfully fast, one being called to serve even before his junior year in high school was completed. Change was in the air for my daddy as well. He was able to move the family from his work as a truck garden farmer (yes, I am a farmer's daughter) inland to a small village where my first memories are mostly happy one and where he added his machinist talents to the war effort by making airplane parts.
Throughout my life, I never knew a healthy mother. The advice she never should have had her third child was one thing, but you see I was the fourth, and as it turn out, the only girl . . . with curly hair besides! As I grew into womanhood, I knew I was special, and though my mother said they didn’t spoil me, I always say, “Ask John!” (my husband). . . As to the being spoiled, in some ways, I am sure I was, but can we blame my mother’s health issues (weary and giving in rather than battling one more time some days, perhaps?) but “when push came to shove”, there was no compromise . . .rules were definitely NOT made to be broken. There is no question but that I was taught obedience and for that I have always been truly thankful. While my daddy and my three older brothers, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles all had influence on my life, I have to say I am exceptionally thankful for the tremendous love given when my mother chose to literally lay down her life to give me a chance to live. To lay there ten whole weeks and have neighborly visitors offer such helpful comments as, “Why don’t you just take a bicycle ride and get rid of that problem?” while my mother looked across the room to see my toddler brother, “Busy,” as another neighbor described, “as a spider!” must have presented sour and sweet moments somewhat akin to those of Job. My mother didn’t need to read or to see today’s available images of the horrors of abortion to understand such was anathema to our Creator. She only knew she and He were partners together in this marvelous act of creation; all she had to do was look across the room - she had proof in that gorgeous dark-eyed, deep-dimpled busy boy. Lifting her eyes, she could look outside and see her two teens, one a blondish-tempted to have a touch of red in his hair, blue-eyed, slight-built boy, who spent a lot of time following his big brother lots of places, yet was his own person, too. Also in her vision, she could see her firstborn, the other dark-haired, dark-eyed, almost an older twin figure to the little one also growing up too fast. And so she lay there knowing that ten weeks was not long, not long at all in comparison to the life she was seeing all around and the life she had opportunity to nurture within. Thank You, God, for the choice my mamma made. She’s not here today for me to tell her, “Thank you,” but throughout hr life, I believe my life was thank you enough because though I often heard her say “I have three sons,” by my being her only daughter, I could smile because I knew I was the exception, the one and only, the only girl . . . and the girl with the curly hair, too! She and Daddy couldn’t have made a better choice - a wiser way to complete their family!
M Sue Moore