The Help...helped

I know, I know! Two posts in one night! How utterly rude and greedy of me! Well, excuuuuuuse me but I must shed these burdensome thoughts crowding in my mind. If not, I'll be up all night, walking aimlessly from room to room, and that might creep out some people who, unlike me, are sleeping. Who am I kidding...my four or five loyal readers wouldn't give two farts if I posted one or two or three million entries tonight. So on with the blogging. Let me just start by stating that this past weekend I finally went to see The Help with a friend on Saturday.  Side note: I went to see it at the Quarry and found myself sniffling a little at the sight of Borders being utterly, devastatingly empty. Okay, back to the topic at hand. The Help; it was a great movie. Beautiful story, engaging plot, and a movie with a moral is always an excellent movie. But I'm not here to be a movie critic. HA! Especially not me, I the NON movie buff!!! But before I delve into what I really want to discuss let me just say when it comes sappy movie scenes....I am a big, bawling CRYBABY! Ask my family. Ask my closest friends. Ask my creator. That is just what I do. I spend 99.9% of my life giggling, laughing boisterously, and acting like a total goofball. But get me in front of a touching, moving, emotional scene and the tears pour down like Niagara Falls.


Having said that, The Help had a couple scenes where I could have bawled like the true crybaby I tend to be. Although lately, crying has been scarce for me. But one scene in the movie choked me up until I thought I would have to seriously remove myself from the theater before I had the most traumatic breakdown. The kind of break down that would make people squirm uncomfortably away from me and give me weird looks (<---the kind of looks I'm sure Rudolph got from Olive the other reindeer). And if you haven't seen this movie and don't want any giveaways, S-T-O-P reading now. Not that it's a big deal but just in case. So one of the girls in the movie is pregnant and she's happy, excited, and elated. Everything seems to be going smoothly for her until the damning scene comes. You hear the ominous, loud thump from the bathroom. The maid (or "help") knocks on the door, and the quiet, muffled voice crying out essentially saying GO AWAY, LEAVE ME ALONE. And I'm sitting there in the audience in that darkened room, feeling my gut knot up and I literally lurch forward in my seat as if I can feel that knife slashing across my heart again. And then the bathroom door is kicked in (that Minnie was a strong black woman; she kicked that door down by herself!!) and you see the blood all over. So much blood. And the tears immediately break loose. I do not even have the time to prepare myself, to tell myself to calm the freak down. IT'S NOT YOU!! Oh but it is me. That despair in her eyes...so real to me.


And then the scene right after that broke me even more. With the bodies in little keepsake boxes, wrapped in ribbon and lace. The shallow grave in the yard and the little trees planted over those graves. It shook me in such a personal way. I have five little sonogram pictures named and saved away in my own little keepsake box, each with a little note from me. Maybe it's creepy to you...might be creepy to the whole world. But to me, these little ones were real people. Each one was a part of me. An extension of me all dwindled away and destroyed by me. Each one only in the first trimester - eight weeks at the minimum; the longest at 11 weeks. Enough time to have thought of a lifetime for them. Enough time to have dreams of them becoming great. Enough time to go from being completely elated to mourning their loss no matter how long or short their gestation. To see their heartbeats at one moment, and then absolutely nothing the next. Enough time to fight for their lives, only to lose. And you feel you lose a part of yourself as well. I don't know how to explain the devastation of a miscarriage. And all you rude people who want to diminish my tragedy by saying oh at least it was ONLY at 8 weeks and not when they were full grown. The thing is...to me they were already full grown. In my mind, they were here, right now with me. Their life spanning out before me; their future already set. My LOVE already engraved, cemented for them. Life becomes more precious when you are shown how extremely delicate it truly is. 


This is why, while abortion works for the rest of you, while you can easily put away a life from you and destroy it when you have the power to create and nurture it, it will never sit right with me. That is my personal opinion. There are other options. And one day I hope that I will be an option for those faced with the predicament of choosing life or condemning death. I still want to sponsor or operate an orphanage. And someday I want to be able to say to you, bring your angels to me, let me nurture them and love them like the miracles they are.