Child Groomer, Sexual Predator
3,840 posts
I was born healthy three weeks early in 1958.
My mother said she had six late term miscarriages, in the years between 1948 and when I was born, by cesarian section, in April of 1958.
In December of 1963 my mother developed cancer of the uterus, which was surgically treated, and it scared the living daylights out of me, her, and my father. After five years cancer free she quit worrying about cancer and died an old lady of 84 in 2010.
Of my mother’s generation my Aunt Bobbie turned out to be the last leaf on the tree. Whenever I was even close to North Kansas City, I’d go to Aunt Bobbie’s and sing Fraulein for her and all those old songs her and Uncle Jiggs used to sing. The grandkids and great grandchildren were always listening and I hope they remember the bunch of us were Scottish hillbillies once in the Ozarks.
The last time I was at Aunt Bobbie’s before she passed as I was leaving she said I can’t wait any more, to tell you.
She said your mother had cancer of one ovary in 1956.
She refused a hysterectomy, and only had one ovary removed.
As I sat in my car I swear I heard Mama say from someplace on high:
None of those Rash girls could ever keep a secret.
As I drove home I easily understood why my mother would have not wanted me burdened with guilt if she’d died on her second round of cancer.
By the time I got home I called Aunt Bobbie and asked how many of those six miscarriages she had were medical abortions, and Aunt Bobbie said what is a medical abortion? I don’t think they had those in the fifties.
And then she said we forgot to sing Lonely River Rhine, so we did that old classic over the phone:
https://youtu.be/mDtzVvB54wM?si=mihq1GYtYc51Zfmk
A decision about abortion ought to only be between God, the mother and her doctor.
A man would chose to keep his wife, most of the time.