I don’t remember when I first heard my inner voice. I cannot remember the first time I laid my eyes on my mother’s face. I remember little bits and pieces of my life before I entered school. I remember my little hat falling into the water of an amusement ride and crying my eyes out. I remember going to the next door neighbors to play with a boy about my age and his matchbox cars . I remember at the age of five, in the hospital, blind because of a procedure and my parents bringing me chocolate milk shakes which I drank with a paper straw, to this day my favorite drink and I search for paper straws. Often when I watch my grandchildren I ask how much will they remember of this moment I shared with them. Is it normal that I don’t remember so much of those formatives years?
From the very moment I started watching and caring for my grandchildren I noticed that they were more than a little body that stumbled, and struggled to communicate, I would almost recognize a human whom was more fully formed than I expected. They would often behave as an adult whom was struggling with a traumatic situation and was struggling to grab on to what ever works to communicate . I could almost see a light in their eyes at times as if their soul was welcoming my efforts to make them comfortable and entertained. I often stated and would like to believe that they just arrived from Heaven and they’re adjusting to life here.
As a caregiver for dying loved ones, I could almost see a similarity. The task where similar and their challenges to communicate, function and find comfort was little difference then the small children except more awkward. The light in their eyes would seem distant often as if they were in a different place, an another dimension. I would equate the last stages as if they were beginning their journey down a new birth canal, and at times it look like they were really working hard to accomplish some trek.
It is assumed that when I die that my inner voice leaves my body, after all it will be cold and stiff, not functional and decaying . It is speculation that at our last breath we depart with our inner voice (soul), to a destination that has been a mystery since the first death. Most faith’s profess that our inner voice has a path, a preferred more comfortable and wondrous destination.
The assumption of when our inner voice arrives is even more of a mystery, and one that has an unsettling debate with todays culture. I do not know when I arrived in my body, I cannot declare if I was a thinking mind while swimming in my mothers womb, Did I arrive when my parents fluids united , did I arrive just after I was introduced to the world, was I present while my father was looking for a suitable place to live and raise me. I don’t know this and neither doesn’t anyone else. I don’t remember crying in the incubator nor do I remember much till as stated above. This has always concerned me and truly wish I knew. Not knowing when I arrived makes me to lean to the assumption that life could very well begin at inception and need to be treated as a life .This is an unpopular view and unacceptable by many and I certainly can understand the rational of many viewpoints, but till I know for just when the inner voice arrives I can’t accept the pro choice view.
As a Catholic, my faith leads to believe that our souls are able to return to God, to be filled with Love and eternal happiness. My faith also expects me to follow the guidelines of the Church as laid out 2000 years ago by Christ and the Apostles, and parts of the Torah or Jewish Scriptures. Catholic believe that life begins at inception and if you are a true follower of the Catholic faith you should accept the dogma. Even without this dogma I still would question and ask for solid proof just when does our inner voice arrive.
This essay is not meant to be judgmental nor will it address most concerns and justifications of pro-choice.I did not write this to condemn but to offer a pro-life view or explanation. This essay is my inner voice speaking and it finds a need to speak.