“Wonderful. I’ll see you then!”
“Bye!” we both said, taking our leave.
Mom was surprised when we got home. “Where
were you two?” she asked, anxiety in her voice. It
was only then that I realized I probably should have
left some kind of explanatory note.
“We were out praying at the abortion mill,” Liam
said, stating it better and more bluntly than I could
have hoped.
This seemed to relieve Mom quite a bit. “Just like
Dan used to. . .” she muttered. Dan used to pray
there? How come he never told me? “But what took
you two so long?”
Liam chuckled. “One of the anti-escorts invited
us out to breakfast with his group. I think your
daughter’s hooked on pro-life work now,” he smiled.
Mom was delighted at that prospect. Carrying on
the tradition of my brother, she said. It made her
proud. Still, she would have liked if we warned her
or something.
***
Allicat,
I can’t believe it’s already been a year. I hope you’re doing
well. We’re both at war now—me, overseas and you,
downtown. Hope Mike’s group is treating you well. Things
over here are rough, but we freed a POW camp last night. One
guy lived, and he’s fighting with us now. He deserted them.
You don’t need to reply.
Much love, your brother.
***
Liam was absolutely right — I was hooked. For the
next year, every possible Saturday saw us preparing
to face the cold or the heat, the storm or the
sunshine, victory or defeat. Every possible Saturday
saw the two of us standing slightly off from the rest
of the group, in an almost direct line of sight with
the front door. Every possible Saturday, we gave our
witness in hopes that one mother might return with
her child.
They kept looking over at us, those girls who
entered. Gradually, the escorts saw us as a threat.
They tried harassment (first verbal, then physical),
but a well-placed police call ended that. Still,
whenever an orange web came with its client
trapped inside, three escorts stood directly in front
of us, trying to block us from view. Yet this didn’t
deter the girls — they would somehow find a way to
look over at us. More often than not, they’d open
their mouths as if they were about to say something.
Yet they were shoved silently inside.
Dan was right: I was at war — a war for the lives
of those who had never seen the light of day. I
learned what he meant by “weapon in hand”; he
was speaking of a Rosary. As a man who knew my
brother commented, “Every bead on this string is a
bullet fired directly into that building and at these
escorts.”
I had actually never prayed a Rosary before I came to
the abortion mill, although I had been Catholic all
my life. Yet I soon learned, and it became one of the
most vital parts of my ministry. Oftentimes, I felt
that it was only the strength of those beads that kept
me standing when one more young mother was cast
into that house of murder. “When you hold those
beads, you’re holding our Blessed Mother’s hand,” an
elderly woman assured me.
Gradually, Dan’s motto (
Mama, I never said I was
There Will Be Hope | Zoe Krauskopf | Grade 11
17
BAYLEY BULLETIN, MAR-MAY 2016
