It could have ended badly but...

I made an effort to see to it that she did the right thing. She was only 14 when she finally went to see the doctor. According to the little wheel chart, she would be turing fifteen when it was born. Am I sad? No, I'm not ready to be a grandmother, and more importantly, she is not ready to be a mother. On the day of her appointment I found her in her restroom on the floor, with her knees drawn to her chest, rocking back and forth. I wanted so badly to sit next to her, hold her in my arms like I had so many times, her knees scraped, her arm in a sling... but this was different. She had shut me out long before this and there was no coming to her aide now. I couldn't bring  myself to say anything except, "You need to get ready."

I had to be the strong one. Yes, she would be the one going throught the procedure but I would need to be the ration voice of reason. She needed someone to tell her that there was no life for a teenage mother. There would be no dances, no dates, no prom and perhaps no graduation. She will thank me one day; she couldn't possibly understand this now. One day she will be traveling through Greece, carefree and alive and she will thank the strong mother that she had when she was 14. Days will turn into months and then years and she will heal, even if she has to blame me, that is a sacrifice I am willing to make, for her.

She will have all of the opportunities I never had...