Why we march

It had always been a dream of hers to attend the March for Life in Washington, D.C. having grown up in a pro-life family that could often be found praying together outside the abortion clinic in her home state. She grew up in the Midwest, moved to North Dakota 15 years ago at the age of 18 shortly after learning she was pregnant and has lived here since. 
 
The local Catholic woman, and Mandan parishioner, attended the march for the first time in January with the diocesan pilgrimage along with her teenage daughter. “It was amazing! There is no greater feeling than being surrounded by people of all ages coming together to speak and act on behalf of the dignity and sanctity of all human life. I felt the presence of God there. It was indescribable and gives me chills to think about when I looked around, knowing we all were there for the same reason. Being together with my daughter and showing her just how many people are in that kind of support group is incredible, and something I’ll never forget.”
 
Her pro-life story, in her own words

I was born and raised pro-life. When I was 18, I was date raped. As a result, I became pregnant. At that time, I was trying to make improvements to my life and moving to a new state (North Dakota), 1,000 miles away. I didn’t let this stop me. I now had another life to think about and I knew I would do my best for this child.
 
I had quite a few people blatantly ask, “Why wouldn’t you just have an abortion because it’s a ‘rape baby?’” My simple response was, “It’s not the baby’s fault, and every child deserves life.”
 
Before the move across the country, I hadn’t told my parents because I knew they would want to help me, and I wanted to do this on my own. So, I prayed a lot and decided to give the child up for adoption. I knew what I wanted, and found a Catholic couple that was active in the Church and family-orientated. Through a series of circumstances, God placed them directly in my path. It wasn’t fate, it was a “God thing” as I like to call it.
 
I learned that this couple had two previous adoption attempts fall through, so they were praying and hopeful, but also hesitant. They showed me nothing but pure love and support. Not once did I feel pressured in anyway, which was important. I knew my baby was already loved so greatly, and that’s what any mother would want.
 
My 19th birthday was approaching and I had two jobs, was receiving assistance from the state, and had been filling out applications for college. My best friend (who is a mother), sat me down and said, “You have to tell your parents now. You wanted to wait until you had everything lined up, and now you do. Please tell them.” It weighed heavily on my heart; I had so many opportunities to tell them, but the timing never felt right. I wasn’t scared of their reaction, knowing I’d have their support. Telling them how I conceived was my struggle. I typed out an eight-page, double-spaced letter explaining everything from start to finish. I included all the information packets about the adoptive parents, and everything for them to see that, from 1,000 miles away, I was doing my ultimate best.
 
On my 19th birthday, four months pregnant, they called. Their first words were, “We love you, and we are so proud of you.” It was a relief. I knew they would feel that way. My mom said, “Either way, we will support you. You are doing your best for yourself and your precious baby, but can I ask you one thing? Why or what is making you decide to give this child up for adoption?” I replied, “Mom, I just turned 19 today, I have two dead-end jobs, and a crappy car. I am not financially stable, what do I have to even offer this baby? Nothing.” Mom replied with this, “You don’t need materialistic items to raise a baby, all you need is love, and it is clear to dad and me that you have nothing but love for this child already. Please just rethink your decision and with God’s help, you will make the right one. We love you, we are proud of you and wish we could be there with you.” 
 
I had already bought material to make a blanket to send to the adoptive parents for Christmas with a card saying, “Merry Christmas, you are the parents of my baby.” I put that process on hold, and prayed intensely. I remained distant from the adoptive parents for fear I would hurt them—crush them, actually. It was a terrible feeling, but I knew they wouldn’t want me feeling that way.
 
Finally, three months later, I decided that I needed to try and raise this sweet baby on my own. I knew even though it would be an open adoption, I would only have that biological connection. I thought about missing his/her first steps, being called “mommy,” seeing that first tooth come in. I couldn’t do it. I had to give it my all.
 
I sat down and wrote one of the hardest letters I’ve ever had to write (along with the previous letter to my parents) explaining my decision. I sent it and prayed once again. 
 
Then, it came time to deliver my baby. When she came out, and I heard that newborn cry, I cried trying to imagine having the beautiful adoptive parents there as they reached out to hold my baby. I couldn’t do it. It was hard to think I was going to give my child up at one point. As she was handed to me, the most indescribable feeling of love and warmth overpowered me. I knew I made the right decision.
 
By this time, I hadn’t heard from the adoptive parents. I knew I had hurt them, but had to move past that now. Arriving home, I had received a card in the mail from the adoptive parents. I cried at the sight of it. I went inside, got settled, and it took me three long hours to open it. When I did, a picture of a newborn baby girl fell out. They said that the day after they heard of my decision to keep my baby, they got a call that their daughter would be born in two weeks. They named her after me, using my first name as her middle name and said it was because of “how strong I was through it all.” We, to this day, remain in touch—our daughters have met.
 
If it wasn’t for my strong pro-life background, knowing and understanding there is value to every human life and without my faith and trust in God, I wouldn’t be where I am today. It wasn’t an easy road, not in the least, but my mom was right, with God and with love, anything is possible. My daughter will be 15 and she is a wonderful young lady with so much potential. Every day, I thank God for blessing me with her.
 
Names were withheld for privacy.