Thoughts & Decisions

September 18, 2001

Nathan,

I did not do it. I cannot tell you if I will, and I cannot tell you if I will not. After the way we left it that last night at home, I considered not even telling you. Considering everything that has happened, it made me rethink everything. I know you will be upset that I did not go through with it, but I still have time. I just need to think about things. I am writing to you now because it’s the only real way I know how to tell you how I feel without being distracted or without you interrupting me. I know that is not completely fair, but I just need to get all of this off my chest. You can hate me if you want, I figured you already do.

When I left my dorm that day to walk to the clinic, it was like walking underwater. I had no real sense of what was going on around me. I was completely consumed with what I was about to do. And yes, what I was about to do. It is just me going through it. You are not here, and you did not want to be. All you were concerned about was making sure I went through with it.

I floated through the crowds. I could not tell if I was high up above everyone around me or sunken beneath them all. I just knew I was on a different plane. But, when I heard the explosions and saw the smoke, I knew something had changed. I could not tell you what that something was, but I know I felt it. I had no idea what was going on. I thought about calling you right then and there but chickened out. I tried calling my mom, but I had no service and it looked like others were having the same problem.

I went on for a few more blocks towards the clinic and when I arrived, everyone, patients, nurses, doctors, delivery men, were all standing in the waiting room, all staring at the little tv fixed to the upper corner of the room above a fish tank. Someone had turned the volume up as loud as it could go. All I heard was accident, malfunction, war. A nurse flipped through the news channels and every talking head said something different. Some claimed we were under attack. I turned around and left. I walked back to my dorm in the same daze that I walked to the clinic in, but this time consumed with a different type of anxiety and fear. It was the not knowing.

It took until that night, while sitting in the lounge with Christy and Brenna and the rest of the hall, to find out what had actually happened. Or what we were told happened. The World Trade Center was gone, the Pentagon attacked. It all seemed so surreal, who would attack us? Isn’t America the worlds protector and friend? It did not make sense to any of us.

Anyways, that was a week ago, and we have been glued to that tv since. Classes were cancelled indefinitely. The only job we have now is to sit and fester about what is happening to our city and this country. I am scared and anxious, but my mind still drifts towards thoughts of you and how we would be as parents. I know that is the last thing you want to hear but that is why I thought a letter would be the most appropriate way to tell you. When my dad was overseas, he would send me postcards and letters letting me know what he was doing and how much he missed me. This did nothing to ease my ache for him, but the letters became the physical manifestation of our bond. Each postcard a hug, each letter an intimate conversation we may not have ever had at home. He would ramble about his hopes and fears, and this is what led me to write you this letter. Just seems like the right canvas for what I was trying to express all along.

My friends would call me stupid, but I still have feelings for you. Not sure if it is still love or if the arguments or the attack fossilized that love to hate. I just do not really know what to feel anymore. I know this is not what you wanted to hear. You made your feelings on the situation clear the night before you went back to school. I am not saying I won’t go through with it, but I’m not saying I will either. One thing that became clear in the moment when I heard the explosions and saw the smoke rise above the buildings was that we are all inherently alone. You helped make what is growing inside of me, but that is just it, its inside of me. I know I am alone in whatever I decide. I am not looking to pick a fight or get your sympathy. Or even your opinion which frankly I have had enough of. This letter is just as much about my own catharsis for what happened as it is about telling you that I did not make it to the appointment.

There is just so much death in the world now. Part of me cannot bear to throw a baby on top of the piles of dead bodies they keep showing on the news. But is this really a world I want to bring a child into? My philosophy professor would get a real kick out of this one, a problem with no right or wrong answer. Just a decision that needs to be made. One choice involves doing absolutely nothing, but I then have to take care of a brand-new human for 18 years. Or I do one of the most difficult things a woman can do within the next three weeks, and I can live my life baby-free. Either way, I will be the one with the baggage. Whether it is a kid I have to lug around or the burden of knowing I said no to that kid and never gave them a chance. There are no real options, the only thing I know is that its my decision to make and they are my consequences to deal with.

Respond if you want, or do not. I am not asking permission or seeking forgiveness. Honestly, I would probably prefer if I never heard from you again but it’s a free country, apparently. Some of us carry burdens, some of us do not. Maybe it’s just freer for some than it is for others.

L. P.