I'd like to tell you a story about a scar. In Poland there is painting, said to be painted by St. Luke. The painting is sometimes called the “Black Madonna.” It is now known as the painting of Our Lady of Czestochowa. The painting was moved at various times and saved from destruction during the siege of Jerusalem. It was moved by St. Helena who gave it to her son, Constantine the Great, who then erected a church at Constantinople dedicated to the Holy Name of Mary. Many graces and miracles were received by all that prayed before it. During the reign of Casmir the Great, the painting found its way to Poland and was placed in the Castle of Belz which was attacked by Tartars. An arrow from the bow of a Tartar warrior entered the chapel and struck the face and throat of the virgin, a mark that remains to this day. Many attempts were made to restore the painting but no matter what was done or how various artists covered the scars, they would reappear again.
We all have scars and the stories that go along with them. This is my scar story. I have a scar on my wrist from putting my arm threw a window at age 10. I have a scar on my forehead from a car accident at age 16. I have another that no one can see not even me, but I know it's there because that scar is one I received at the age of 18 from an abortion.
My name is Alberta Pace and I am the youngest of 3 children. My parents divorced when I was in my mother's womb. My mother never thought about not having me, abortion never entered her mind. So I was born in 1956 in Norfolk, VA and later my mother moved to Cleveland, OH with her three children.
I was raised Roman Catholic, and went to Catholic grade school and high school. In my junior year of high school I began my life of promiscuity. The following year I graduated from high school at 18 years of age and pregnant although I did not know it at the time, because my period had been late before.
I went to a doctor for a pregnancy test which came back positive. I had a problem that needed to be fixed. I was 18, living at home, planning to go to college in September. If I told my mother, I would have to admit to my promiscuity and that was overwhelming to me. So I decided to get an abortion. I borrowed the money from a friend made the appointment and told my mother that I was going to spend the night at a friend's house.
My memories of that day are sketchy. The first recollection I have is getting out of the car and walking into the office building and taking the elevator up to the doctor's office. A friend went with me, bless him, he wasn't even the father. My friend and I didn't talk much. There was just quietness, an eerie silence. When my name was called I went with a nurse to an office where she took my medical history. I found out that she had an abortion. She said that everyone who that worked there has had an abortion, including the doctor. Then she took me to a room where there were other women and a counselor. It was a group session where we could talk about what we were doing there. We must have shared how far along we were – I was 12 weeks - because one of the women asked if the sex of the baby could be determined since I was so far along. I honestly can't remember what the answer was to that question. The next thing I remember was going into a room, obviously a medical examination room. I got up on the examination table and remember thinking how bright the lighting was and continued to stare at the ceiling. The nurse was with me and the doctor came in. They explained what method would be used - vacuum aspiration. The next thing I remember was the doctor saying I would feel some pulling and then I heard the suction of the vacuum. Afterwards, the doctor said if I had been any farther along, I would have had to have gone to a hospital for a D&C.
I left and went to a friend's house and waited to see if anything unforeseen would happen and it didn't. The evening again remained eerily quiet, even the friends that were at the house seemed to be quiet. Looking back I think we all knew this would be something never to be brought up again. Something was done that could never be discussed, just buried.
You’d think that would have been a wake-up call but it wasn't. Instead my life of promiscuity and partying ramped up. I started drinking, smoking cigarettes, and marijuana, I did cocaine and even tried acid once. My life path was just one good time after another – it was the '70s after all and everyone was doing it, or so I thought anyway. All I had cared about was the next party.
Finally at age 30, I started waking up. It was 1986. That year I got a DUI, I was fired from job, and my mother passed away from a heart attack. While my mother was in the hospital, a few days before she died, she wanted me to promise her that I would go back to church. She said it didn't have to be Catholic, just Christian – I had been practicing Japanese Buddhism which was not pleasing to her at all. Even on her deathbed I couldn't make that promise to her. A few days later my mother passed away surrounded by her world – her three children. Her eyes slowly moved to each one us, silently assuring us that we would be okay, and then she was gone.
By the Grace of God, my life began to change. I did start going back to church, a Catholic one at that. I felt like such a hypocrite going through the motions but something was changing me. Finally, I went to confession. Although I had confessed my abortion, I didn't feel forgiven. I know forgiveness is granted in the confessional but I didn't feel it. The penance I was given was to take time and reflect on one of the sainted glass windows. I don't even remember what the window was of. I remember thinking, “that's it?” But, I knew that was the only way I could receive communion. So I did what I was supposed to do.
I continued to keep my abortion a secret – even to me, rarely thought of. I was successful with evading my past or so I thought, until I attended the weekend retreat, “Christ Renews His Parish.” We each shared our stories of our faith journey. I was so nervous about sharing mine. But during the preparation, God told me to bare it all, no holds barred. So I did and felt so much love and encouragement from those women and still do. I want them to know that they were and are, a vital part of my healing process.
But it doesn't end there, although my healing had begun the wound opened up again with the release of The Planned Parenthood videos. I began to recognize the true horror I had done. I knew a baby was growing inside me but didn't take the time to realize that I had taken a life. Where do you go with that? Fortunately, the Lord provided for me once again. I found out that a retreat “Entering Canaan,” was being offered in Ohio for post abortive women sponsored by Project Rachel. It helped me to begin a true healing and continues to do so, to this day. During the retreat it was suggested that we give our babies a name. Giving a name gives purpose, worth, and value. I didn't know if I had a baby girl or baby boy growing inside me, but somehow I always felt it was a baby boy. So I named him Christian, because he followed Jesus, right into His arms. Naming Christian has been such a blessing to me. I asked him for forgiveness and I believe that he has. I have since found out, that at the time I aborted Christian, he was the size of lime – he so easily could have been held in the palm on my hand.
You who dwell in the shelter of the Lord, who abide in His shadow for life,
say to the Lord: “My refuge, my rock in whom I trust!”
and He will raise you up on eagle's wings
bear you on the breath of dawn,
make you to shine like the sun
and hold you in the palm of His hand.
Christian would have been 41 this past December. Maybe that's why Christmas doesn't excite me like it did when I was a child. But it does give me a time to reflect on another baby – Jesus.
My healing continues through Eucharistic Adoration, prayer, and monthly “Entering Canaan Gatherings” held by Project Rachel. This diocesan based ministry is composed of a network of specially trained clergy, spiritual directors, and therapists who provide compassionate one-on-one care to those who are struggling with the aftermath of abortion. Project Rachel is designed to provide confidential and skilled help to each individual who comes to the ministry. It is able to help women and men, parents, grandparents, siblings, friends, and others whose lives have been impacted by an abortion loss.
I along with other women are so blessed that our Bishop Thomas and the Diocese of Toledo supports the ministry of Project Rachel through Catholic Charities. My ability to share my unseen scar story with you is a testament to the Grace and unending Mercy of our wonderful Savior, Jesus Christ.
“But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.”
Isaiah 53:5
The telling of my story is also a testament to my spiritual home of St. Joseph – Maumee. Without the support of this wonderful, faith-filled community I could not stand here today.
From the darkness comes a light, only He can raise a life. Awake my soul and sing.
Alberta Pace
