My sister’s short life and why it matters to me today

"We cannot diminish the value of one category of human life-the unborn-without diminishing the value of all human life"

In 1971, my mother went into labor.

She had struggled to get pregnant and resorted to fertility medication. As her pregnancy progressed, my 5 foot 10 inch mother was thin, and people often thought she didn’t look pregnant.  At 34 weeks, she found herself in a small-town Louisiana hospital in the delivery room giving birth to a  four pound baby girl. My father had  just left the waiting room to tell the grandparents when the nurse called him back.

Due to my mother’s appearance, no one suspected twins. To everyone’s surprise, my mother  delivered another daughter. She weighed 2 pounds, and my parents named her Kellie Ann.

She died the next day.

During that time another mother in Texas named Norma McCorvey (“Jane Roe”) and her two feminist attorneys filed a lawsuit  claiming that strict abortion laws in her home state violated her rights. That case (Roe v Wade) made its way to the Supreme Court and in 1973, the Court ruled laws banning abortion were unconstitutional.

According to PBS:

…the states were forbidden from outlawing or regulating any aspect of abortion performed during the first trimester of pregnancy, could only enact abortion regulations reasonably related to maternal health in the second and third trimesters, and could enact abortion laws protecting the life of the fetus only in the third trimester. Even then, an exception had to be made to protect the life of the mother.

As long as I can remember, I’ve been pro-life. Even though my sister died naturally, I made some rudimentary connection between my loss and the lives lost through abortion. From a young age, I knew abortion was wrong.

During my junior year in high school, abortion had been legal for 15 years. I entered my school’s science fair, and my topic was abortion. My twin sister’s tiny footprints were inked in the center of her birth certificate. I made copies and cut out each little footprint to place on my display board. I arranged her prints to make a path around pictures of babies in the womb at different stages of pregnancy. My project was titled “Abortion: Is it a step in the right direction?”

As I discussed the different abortion methods, I made my  case against it.

My project came in first place in my division.

The next year I had a massive poetry assignment due in my English honors class. We had to write a book of different poems, and one was called the alphabet poem.  The first word began with the letter A, the second word began with the letter B, and so on. My poem was about abortion.

My teacher pulled me aside and couldn’t believe I had written it alone. She loved it.

I was a pro-life activist-in-training.

 For many years I thought of my twin sister and wished I could have shared my life with her.  I often asked myself why I survived and she didn’t, but  the connection I had with her during high school faded as I became busy with my husband and children.

After I was diagnosed with breast cancer two years ago, part of my healing process involved self-evaluation. I survived a second time, and I knew God had a plan for me.  That process not only  brought past misdeeds to light but also a  fierce desire to become a vocal conservative activist.

In 1971 my mother, like many pregnant  women in the seventies,  didn’t have access to ultrasound technology or high-risk prenatal care.

With this same technology, today we are able to see our babies grow, move, and react to outside stimuli. We have a ringside seat to enjoy the beauty of life as it unfolds within the mother. As a cancer survivor who examines life, faith, and God’s existence,  I realize ultrasound has given us the opportunity to witness the hand of God.

It doesn’t take an advanced degree or a strong moral compass to conclude crushing a living child’s body with metal and then picking through the parts with tweezers to salvage organs is wrong, or  an abortionist using ultrasound guidance to effectively kill a struggling baby is not progress. How these polished and influential feminists of Planned Parenthood’s top brass can’t see this defies understanding. In fact, after watching the four undercover  videos, the Supreme Court’s decision handed down two years after I was born now seems archaic.

Progressives control the media and culture, and their dominance has ushered in a sad state of moral decay instead of this liberal Utopia they promised.

This so called pro-woman, pro-abortion  culture  teaches women to cower when faced with an unplanned pregnancy. “Women, you can do it all,” culture says, “except when it comes to caring for an unexpected child.”

I often engage in political and cultural debates, and progressives often claim Christian, conservative women like me are  extreme, ignorant, or both.

Cecile Richards, President of Planned Parenthood, called us “extremists.”

How dare you, Cecile.

If  you, Cecile Richards and other progressives, are so enlightened, is abortion the best you can do?

An advanced society doesn’t kill children. End of story.

Females are entrusted with carrying and nurturing life. Our natural role should be seen as an honor, but Planned Parenthood sees modern-day slavery. These women believe their  organization is there to help women break the chains of parenthood. A baby’s life is a burden and its death means freedom.

Cecile Richards has the audacity to call pro-lifers extreme, when her organization, founded by racist Margaret Sanger, butchers babies and sells their organs.

 When I saw these videos, I cried for all of our sins as well as my own. When I saw the little boy in the petri dish in the fourth video, I thought of my own son. I also thought of my sister Kellie.

If life is not valuable and babies can be discarded so easily, why do I still think of Kellie, and why do some mothers who chose abortion mourn the loss of their child for years?

Kellie’s short, one-day life taught me the value of my own and how to use it for God’s purpose.

Norma McCorvey, who never had an abortion, later claimed she didn’t fully understand the abortion process and was effectively used by her attorneys to advance their feminist agenda. She also claimed she wasn’t involved in her own case. She later converted to Christianity and became pro-life.

 My brother named his oldest daughter after our sister. My niece is a smart, accomplished eighteen year old entering college in the fall. When I finished my cancer treatment, I promised myself I would drive to Louisiana every year and visit Kellie’s resting place.

Kellie’s life mattered to us, and the 50 million babies who have died since 1973 should matter to us all.

Full disclosure.  When I was accepted into anesthesia school, I moved to Houston. I was searching for an OB/GYN, and a friend suggested Planned Parenthood for my well-woman exam. I had never heard of the organization. I was told they did abortions, but I went to my appointment anyway. I now regret that decision.

Image courtesy of: www.unsplash.com