This letter is in reference to your son Ian, me, my parents, and you. In 1982 I was so busy arguing with my parents, and fighting with Ian, that I never acknowledged I was heartbroken over having a miscarriage. I spent years trying to forget. Last November, I finally broke down into tears. Since then, I have been reliving the emotions of a 13 year old girl. I was wise enough to talk to my husband, family, and friends. However, I quickly realized the subject matter was too deep to be discussed extensively with them. I started seeing a counselor. For the first time in 27 years, my feelings of loss and grief were acknowledged. For the first time ever, I had the emotional support that I needed.
The day I sat down with my councilor, the first thing I did was cry. I told her I had been crying for two weeks. I asked her what was wrong with me, that I shouldn’t be upset because the events that took place happened 27 years ago. She said that our emotions are always with us. Like a book that we re-shelve, when taken down and opened to any page, the emotions appear same as they had, on any given year. She said I was grieving.
I’m certain you recall that two kids made a very poor decision with consequences unforeseen. I was pregnant. Early in my pregnancy, I told Ian I wasn’t getting an abortion. He responded, “Like my father, I am not going to have anything to do with that kid.” I had every intention of keeping my child, but I had no idea how I was going to make money to support him. I was cleaning Sue’s, your next door neighbor’s house, to earn some money. Her charming husband Lou, was aware that Ian had broken up with me, and that I was pregnant. It’s natural to ask a kid how they expect to support a baby, but to my dismay, he had a solution to my cash dilemma. He offered to prostitute me out to his friends. My age wasn’t a big deal. After all, his girlfriend was 15 years old. I never told my parents. When my parents found out I was pregnant they told me I was getting an abortion. I ran away. Luckily, I didn’t ask Lou for his help. After my mom and dad found me, I was deceived into going to NYC to have an abortion. When the doctor came out I started crying and told him I didn’t want this. He told my parents, although I was 13, they could not force me to get an abortion. In 60 seconds my relationship with my mother was destroyed for years.
I understand why you were not in contact with my parents after the incident with my father. However, I came to your home in my nightgown asking for help. I told you I was having a miscarriage. You slammed the door in my face. I was later told that you did not realize the magnitude of my situation. Between my swollen abdomen and the unmistakable look of fear on my face, I find it hard to believe you thought I was looking for attention. I came to your house first because your son was the father of my child. Second, I didn’t want the neighbors to know what was going on, and last and most importantly, I was home alone with my one year old sister because my mother was having chemotherapy. I didn’t know the process of miscarriage and I was terrified. When I came to your home I was cramping. When I finally arrived at the hospital, I couldn’t walk. Shortly after I arrived, I started hemorrhaging. From then on I was in labor, 15 hours without pain killer. I spent two days completely alone in the hospital. My parents were a bit angry with me.
When I went home, empty handed, I was given a chilly reception. My mother was either unwilling or unable to help me emotionally. Not one person was there for me. I had absolutely no coping skills for the adult situation I had put myself in. My ex-boyfriend was out living a normal teenage life and the only consequences for him were, “Son, you should have made better choices. This is your fault for dating a girl too young.” THE END.
Sadly, not only did I have to see your son day in and day out, I was then threatened with bodily injury. It was made clear to me that both Ian and your daughter were responsible. I assumed Ian was doing this because I refused to get abortion. His prior act of taking a knife to James’s mother, due to her interference in his relationship with Anna, caused me to take the threat seriously. I told your daughter for every punch I received, she would get double. Well, those girls kept their word. I was attacked not once, but three times.
Your son at first couldn’t comprehend why I am still angry. He told me I shouldn’t cry over the pregnancy because, “It wasn’t worth it.” In addition, I should be over the miscarriage because I have two children. I informed him that my pregnancy wasn’t a few cells that needed to be scraped off. I was 17 weeks pregnant, the baby was fully formed, moved, and had a heart beat – one child doesn’t replace another – I am the mother of three children, one of which died in utero.
Ian, my mother and you, bastardized my pregnancy. However, Jewish law recognizes that I have given birth to a son, and he is considered my first born. Furthermore, although I was young, unmarried, and even if the father wasn’t Jewish, my child is not considered a bastard. Contrary to Ian’s statement, “It wasn’t meant to be.” It is my understanding that each soul comes here with a specific reason, regardless if it is 70 years or 17 weeks. Once that mission is complete, the soul returns to fulfill the commandments of the Torah. My miscarriage was the best thing that could have happened. However, I did love my child, and I will never get over losing him. What hurts the most out of this whole ordeal was that I never got to see, kiss, or hold my son. I was unfortunate, but today hospitals do things differently.
Ian has taken the position of the “Third person”, as if he was one of the neighbors listening to this story and thinking, “Yes, a tragic story.” This is what I deduced from his comments. A 17 year old kid is confronted by his ex-girlfriends father. Father says, stay away from his daughter. Not a problem, he already broke up with her. However, the “idea” of pregnancy is now a reality. Once her father leaves he knows the father isn’t going to lay a finger on him because he would have by now. Kid’s parents are disappointed, but it’s not their daughter. The little bastard is their problem. Thank heaven for sons. Nothing is said for several weeks. For his “well-being” it’s best to forget about it.
Ian and his family got the opportunity to forget about it. For my mother and father, our relationship was destroyed for years. At the age of 13 I got to experience depression. There was not one soul that could convince me not to feel abandoned and betrayed. I felt dehumanized by the actions of you and your son, and yes, my mother. While I had many friends in my presence, I always kept my distance, not wanting to be betrayed once again.
Last November when I told my husband I couldn’t believe this was happening to me, he said Ian had been interfering in our lives for years. The only problem was that my negative feelings were misdirected at the wrong people. I felt as a pregnant teenager, I didn’t have the right to be treated with dignity or respect. I also felt I didn’t have the right to be sad over the loss of my child.
Ian admitted that he tried to put himself in my shoes, but he couldn’t. I then asked if all the things that happened to me, coupled with his mother slamming the door in the face of a girl who was in labor, that girl being his wife, how then would he feel? I got an immediate reaction. His response confirmed to me that he just didn’t care.
As Ian’s mother you are expected to do what’s best for your son. No one would fault you for not wanting your son to be a father at age 17. However, you are woman and a mother who refused to help a 13 year old girl in crisis. I have written this letter to hold you accountable for your actions. What you did to me was both cruel and immoral. If someone told me back then, that in time I would live a rewarding life, filled with love, friendship, and happiness, I would not have believed them.
NOTE: Ian’s mother and sister have never apologized despite knowing how to contact me. After all the parties in Ian’s family were held accountable, he wrote me back and called me a Whore and a Cunt.