My child died peacefully in my womb, but under Indiana law, I could have had her killed, ripped limb from limb simply because I decided I didn't want to remain pregnant another 20 weeks. While I held my child in my arms, admired her perfect, tiny features, and kissed her goodbye, elsewhere a doctor was using horribly painful techniques to "terminate a pregnancy." As I cried over the loss of my child who died of natural causes, elsewhere a woman was crying over her choice to have her child viciously murdered. While my tiny baby was lovingly placed in a tiny sleep sack and hat, and prepared for burial, her remains treated with the upmost respect and dignity that a human person deserves, elsewhere babies are thrown naked in the trash, their bodies considered medical waste.
To the pro-abortion community, who believes that any restriction on abortion constitutes an attack on women, and that unborn babies only matter if they are wanted by their biological mother; to those who are on the fence about abortion, I ask you to look at my child. Really look at her.
This is the image of my Jenni, a photo I looked at for weeks, dreaming of my child and growing in love.
This is my Jenni. I think she looked like my second daughter. She would have been beautiful, I know it. This is the child I am burying on Saturday. This is my baby, who didn't matter enough to have been protected by our laws, who under different circumstances could have been killed for any number of reasons, including simply because she was a girl.
I want you to know that Jenni's life had value, and not just because we loved her and wanted her desperately. Jenni's life mattered because she was created by God, because she was fully human from the moment of conception, and because she was her own person. These were her feet; they were not mine. Her heart beat inside my body, but independently of mine.
When she died, I lost a child. I mourn her life and all that it could have been. I grieve for the child that I will never get to know, for the memories I will never have, and for the life she will never experience.
Jenni deserved a name. She deserved a proper burial. She deserved to be protected. She was no less my child because she hadn't yet taken a breathe of air, no less a human because she was only 8" long and 5 ounces in weight at when she died. She mattered. Her life had value.
And so does every unborn child.