The evening was like most other working the evening dispatch shift for the county Sheriff.   It was almost 2:30 in the morning and call volume had slowed and I took a rare break from the radios and took a call taker’s position at the front desk.   The phone rang and the voice on the other end was soft and sincere.   A lady asked how long the county Coroner’s office kept records of bodies found.   An unusual question,   I resisted the urge to ask the lady if she had lost a body.   The sarcastic sense of humor is very much a coping skill developed by those of us in law enforcement to deal with the dark side of life we often experience.   I have never been more grateful for remaining the professional demeanor that was required of me.   I told my caller I had never worked for the Coroner so I wasn’t familiar with the amount of time records were kept but told her how to contact them during the start of the business day to get the information.

There was such a sincereness and sadness in the lady’s voice that made me ask her “Why do you ask?”.   The story began to unfold.    “I have cancer and I don’t have long maybe another month but no more and I just wanted to know so I can leave this world in peace” was the way her story began.   A little more conversation with questions and answers and she knew I was sincerely trying to help her and an emotional flood gate opened.   It was a long time ago, the early 1950’s, the caller was in her mid teens.    She said it was so long ago but it was still fresh in her memory like everything occurred yesterday and she had always wondered.     The caller was pregnant and scared, she kept her condition from her family and friends until her expanding tummy made it impossible to conceal any further.   A nightmare began.

“I didn’t mean to get pregnant, I didn’t really know what I was doing, I sure didn’t know how to prevent it” came the words spoken so softly by the voice that trembled.   “My Dad was so mad” said the caller as the soft tears began to flow my heart broke with a lady who very much just needed somebody to listen.   She began to tell of how times were different and how to avoid the disgrace and shame of having a child born out of wedlock her Dad had taken her to some woman’s house that lived a few towns over near one of the major highways.   She told of the physical pain and horror and fear of having an unwanted abortion performed by someone she didn’t even know.   She told of the physical complications that followed.   There was no follow up medical care, ever.   The result was an inability to carry a child to term  later in life.

Life continued for the lady she married and adopted a child.   She lived in a respectable house and had a comfortable life in the material sense but she said she always wondered.   She knew she had to be far enough along that it was possible her child could have survived.   The older she got and the wanted pregnancies that eventually occurred and failed she learned about fetal development and birth control was introduced to her since she had continued to have miscarriages.   She just wanted to know if anybody had ever found the aborted fetus, was it given a proper burial, did it survive and if so was it alright.     She was looking for information knowing that what had happened could not have been undone but she needed to know.

We spoke for a little more than twenty minutes which is an extraordinary amount of time to keep a caller on the lines.    When the lady had finished telling her life story she asked if she would ever know if a body was found.   I spoke the truth, I told her I felt that since records were not kept like they are now and that anyone who was performing unlawful abortions would not have left evidence to be found in the area which is still rural and undeveloped she would probably not be able to get an “official” report of what had transpired that day so many years ago.     She softly sighed and said she knew it but that she had just needed somebody to talk to and she asked for my name which I gave her.   She thanked me and said that she would pray for me because just being able to talk to me helped her so much and she felt so much better.

I felt bad for her but told her that was what we were there for and she said she was tired and wanted to get some sleep.  I told her if we could help further to be sure to call back.   I didn’t really do anything to help, I was not able to give her information which she was looking for in fact I told her she probably was not going to get the information she was looking for but still I know she found peace I could hear it in her soft voice that was no longer trembling.   I wish I could tell you more of the story of the lady who inspired this article from a conversation now eight or nine years old but I Don’t Know Her Name. I present this story to you for consideration to help young girls today, the Maidens.   We have become somewhat comfortable and apathy has set in concerning Women’s Rights and Women’s Bodies.   Education is fundamental, girls must be taught early on how their bodies work, what they can do to take care of themselves and help that is available to them, they are precious and must know that their Mothers, Aunts, Grandmothers love them and can be trusted enough to be asked about contraception and the older generations must be strong enough to have frank discussions and give clear information.   It is a slippery slope and a very dangerous one at that, if our right to CHOOSE is lost our daughters will once again know the unspeakable horrors of procedures performed without medical care.   They will know the complications of their own bodies maimed because medical care is not available.   They will know of friends who die because they did not get proper medical care.

We have to remember if we don’t have the freedom to choose we are forced to accept what is decided for us be it a forced unwanted abortion or a forced unwanted pregnancy.    Either has horrible ramifications that are inhumane and we must prevent a return to the dark days.   Z Budapest encourages women to organize, agitate, and educate and we must take active measures to preserve the freedoms gained only in the last thirty to forty years.   The Holy Book of Women’s Mysteries by Zsuzsanna Budapest gives an excellent Herstorical perspective of how things slipped and the importance of women reclaiming their worth and ways to do it.   I encourage you to gift a young girl, a Maiden, with a copy of this and be open to discussion after all it is her future that is at stake.   A sister who has probably crossed the veil by now is speaking to you with the retelling of  Herstory.  Take heed sisters do not let her story once again become our story.   I wish I could tell you more of story of the lady who inspired this article but I Don’t Know Her Name….

I am going to my altar now to light a candle for this unknown lady a Goddess whose name we can’t call may she know peace and may she continue to inspire others to preserve rights she did not have herself.

Blessed Be