Six years ago...

I drove to Daisy’s house (name changed for privacy). I had just learned that Daisy, 15, was pregnant. She, in her embarrassment, was telling everyone it was rape. I knocked at Daisy’s door, the big Doberman barking me away. Daisy and her mom came out, the later spitting threats about the boy and how this was a demon rape child. Daisy said she was getting an abortion. “Please,” I said, “please let me adopt the baby.”
The words surprised us both, and tears came to our eyes, but only Daisy let them spill. “I don’t know, Ms. Rachel,” She said, “I don’t know.”
I left her my phone number and left, awkwardly. There was nothing romantic or wonderful about it, TV blaring in the background. I was single and about to leave the country, but the moment the words left my mouth I knew they were true. I wanted that baby. And in that time, that baby had become my baby.
Daisy went back and forth in the next visits I made. I made different suggestions, different ideas—letting her know there were other options. She was not alone—I was not alone.
Daisy’s mother insisted this baby was going to be aborted. I broke down and cried that this baby get a chance to live. “No, no no. Ms. Rachel! You can talk and beg here all day, but my daughter is not having that baby.”
Daisy decided against the abortion. She decided for it, back and forth. Finally, she let me know the baby was gone. I had learned to love someone I could not see. Someone I did not know the gender, the intelligence of, the athletic ability. Someone that meant leaving the place I loved and being “tied down,” future unknown, with visions of long nights and drool. It wasn’t just any baby—it was my baby. Now I had a star in heaven, but stars in heaven don’t mend holes in your heart.
This is why I run in the walk/run for life. To remember my baby, to remember Daisy and so many girls and women like her. This is why I am asking for your support. This link may not work on smart phones (so sorry!), but you can donate here.