What’s A Grandma Like Me Doing In A Place Like This, Anyhow?

My experiences with activism, persecution and personal freedom began when I was quite young.

I fought for environmental clean-up (age 13) by writing to the local newspaper and defended baby seals (age 14) against my hometown’s newest furrier by stuffing the coat pockets with garish fliers. I was sent home by the police unless I “wanted them to arrest me.” I had been slurred, degraded and beaten for being both Jewish and an “oddball,” so defending the vulnerable comes naturally to me.

     I am grateful the choice of abortion was there for me as a legitimate and safe option when I needed it.  I have birthed five children, adopted one through marriage, and each of them have partners who are also part of my family. Additionally, they have gifted me with six young grandchildren, all who need to feel much more secure in their personal freedoms now and in their futures.

    I have had two abortions. They were sad circumstances and, frankly, I don’t believe it’s anyone’s business, but I make it public to help decrease the stigma against abortion. We shouldn’t have to whisper “I had an abortion” - not only because it’s at least as important a procedure as biopsies, gastric bypasses, and implants, but because it is usually very personal and frequently sensitive emotionally.

    My first abortion was necessitated by a pregnancy conceived after a broken condom. It occurred three months after a serious car accident in which I suffered multiple injuries including a Traumatic Brain Injury. My hand wringing, gut wrenching, and soul-searching over abortion included seeking doctors’ and Rabbis’ advice. They all said that considering the medications I’d been taking, abortion was the most sympathetic course of action for both the developing embryo and me. 

    The second abortion was even more distressing. I had left my first husband and taken my three kids with me, after he tried to strangle me with a telephone cord. He was petulantly delaying the divorce. Upon moving back to my hometown, I met up with an old high school friend, destined to become my second husband. The divorce wasn’t finished when I experienced my second slipped condom (note: two different men screwed up on condoms) which meant another unplanned pregnancy for me.  While the situation was not ideal, we were excited to blend our family. We were devastated when my divorce attorney ill-advised me that my soon to be “ex-husband” would surely get sole custody of my 5-year-old, 4-year-old and 2-year-old if I continued with that pregnancy. So I did what I had to. And we mourned.

I do not feel guilty because I kept my existing children safe and I took control of my life. And when my daughter needed help to get an abortion, I stood with her against the angry protestors who alternately screamed at us, or pleaded manipulatively. I brought her to the very clinic where I volunteer now, to protect other women who come for health care. I serve hoping for understanding, compassion, and every other conceivable option that should be at an empowered, healthy woman’s disposal: Without judgement, guilt, or shame!

- Hopefawn Levenson Robertson