My First Decision

My family cleverly named ourselves "Dysfunctionally Functional." We, like most families, kept our issues hidden from the outside world. Although life was chaotic, there was no doubt that we loved each other. My father, was the glue that kept us together. An intelligent man that always had a blunt and honest answer to any question you could throw at him. We never questioned his intentions because he seemed to always be right in the end. My mother was one of the sweetest women when she was sober, but it was seldom you found her this way. She was a true alcoholic down to the core. She was often smothering us with a neurotic affection. Overly jealous, territorial, and you could always find her in the middle of every situation. My younger sister, Valerie, was often mistaken for my twin. She was the quieter of the two of us, making herself secretive and mysterious to all those who encountered us. We were inseparable, nothing could tear us apart. Maybe it was the fear of losing each other in the storms that seemed to follow us.

The transition my family encountered put great stress upon us. My mother began drinking at 2, picked a fight with someone and passed out on the couch before 7 pm. She was a constant terror in the house, dominating downstairs with such a fierceness I still don't understand. My father, sister and I often found ourselves locked in our rooms avoiding contact with each other in fear that she would become jealous and kick down the door. This made it hard to be a family and we eventually became secretive from each other.

Being 3 women in the house it was apparent when someone missed a period, and my mother was always the first to notice this. She confronted me and I denied it whole-heartedly. I had a demeanor on me that despised the very thought of children. I was my father's daughter and I refused to settle down, become a housewife, and throw my dreams away. I was concentrating on what mattered most, my education. My mother asked my dad to talk to me. I again denied with such a belief that it discredited my mother's suspicions. But, in order to stop my mother's rants we decided to take a test.

Jimi, the father, took me to HEB and I bought two tests, in hope of killing all doubts in my family's eyes. Although I loved him deeply, there seemed to be a growing distance that became more apparent as the days rolled on. When he dropped me off that night, I felt a little curious and eager to disprove my mother's accusations. That night I took one of the tests and almost instantly the positive sign appeared. My thoughts began to race; did I do it wrong? I can't be pregnant. I don't want to be pregnant. I ran to my sister's room and she followed me back to the bathroom. We were terrified what our father would say. My family had agreed if Val or myself were to become pregnant, an abortion was the right choice. I couldn't even kill a spider, something I so obviously feared, how could I kill anything that came from me?

I immediately called my best friend, Ashley, and stayed the night with her. She helped me come to the conclusion that I wanted to give the baby up for adoption. I was not ready ready to become a mother and I could not abort. I called Jimi and we agreed to see each other the next day on Christmas Eve. When we met, he expressed his feelings of wanting to keep the baby. But, he knew that in the end, my father had the last say. I had just turned 17 a month before and he was 21, Dad had every right to call it statutory rape. After dropping me off I acted as if nothing was wrong, hoping not to alarm my father. Right as I was heading to bed, the dreaded question came. My father assuming it came out negative, asked me in a relaxed tone. I felt weak in the knees and sat next to him, I let my father down and I let myself down.

"I'm pregnant Dad. I was thinking maybe we can put it up for adoption," I began to cry without hesitation, "I just can't abort. But, I know I can't keep this baby. Please let me put it up for adoption."

My dad infuriated screamed, "Your having this abortion! Your are too young to have a child, and you can't put it up for adoption! You won't be able to let that baby go, I wouldn't even want you to let the baby go! You're having an abortion tomorrow!"

"On Christmas day?! Will they even do that?!" I cried out in pain and confusion.

There was no chance to change his mind, the verdict was made, and I lost my plea. They were closed on Christmas day but the appointment was set up a few days later. I pushed Jimi away, and he gladly avoided my Dad. Nothing was spoken of the subject, there was no need to. My father was always the stone that kept us from blowing away. How could I turn my back to a decision that he felt so strongly about?

The night before the abortion Ashley sat with me and gave me the strength for what was about to happen. We talked about every subject but the pregnancy, hopelessly avoiding the trial at hand. Then Val walked in, handing me pink baby booties and almost instantly, I broke down in tears.

Ashley angry from my sister's silent plea to stand up to my father, spoke, "Why would you do that Val?! You're just making it harder for her!"

Val began to cry and begged me to not have the abortion. If anyone could stand up to my father and change his mind, it was me. But, to find that strength, that was the question. Ashley found herself consoling both Val and I from the tears of pain we shed uncontrollably.

Suddenly, my mother burst into the room crying, begging me to not have the abortion. It was the last thing she wanted, and if I couldn't keep the baby, my aunt would adopt it. My walls began to crumble. Everyone around me was in tears and so desperately needed me to stand up to my father's decision. I went to bed with a heavy heart, knowing it was impossible to go against my father's wishes.

Abortion Day, I feared this day from the moment I found out I was pregnant. I had assured everyone I wasn't going to have the abortion but deep down we all knew that I was the last one to go up against my father. I was Daddy's Little Girl, never had I questioned him, never had I but-heads with him. I felt weak but I kept my head high. As we walked in the building, my mind raced, knowing I could not muster the strength and it pained me.

My father announced in a strong voice to the nurse, "My daughter, Maricella, has an appointment."

I was instructed to sign in and as I did this, I realized this was it. I could not find one word to speak. It was too late, I could not change his mind now. My father and I sat down and I silently cried unable to hold it in any longer. The nurse called me in alone and asked if I was o.k. I told her yes and that this was what I wanted. I wasn't going to dishonor my father.

As I layed down for the sonogram, I asked quietly, "Can I keep the picture?"

"We can't let you keep the picture, but if you'd like ... you can look at it for a moment."

I looked at the baby, it was my baby and I was going to let it go. Was this the right thing to do? Well, I was under 18 and I didn't have a choice. The realization of my powerlessness was apparent and my tears became heavier. I put my clothes back on and left the room. As I walked to the door, another nurse stopped me and asked if I would come with her.

"Tell me the truth, do you want this abortion?"

"I don't! But, I have to have it! My father told me to have the abortion ..."

"You know you don't have to listen to your father. You are pregnant, not him. You are legally an adult right now. You can make your own decisions."

I didn't know this, it had never dawned on me. My mind raced faster and faster. I could say no, and it was o.k. to do that.

"I can't tell him no. I want to, but I'm scared. I don't want him mad at me. He's all I've got."

"I can talk to him if you'd like."

"You can't change his mind. You won't change his mind. No one wants me to have this abortion, but we just can't say it."

"Well, you are too emotional right now. We can't allow you to have the abortion unless you can calm yourself down."

This was my chance to prolong it. Should I take it? Or should it be the way I can stand up to my father?

"I'm not gonna have this abortion."

As I walked out my dad asked me if I was o.k. I told him yes and that I wasn't having this abortion. They wouldn't even let me have it because I was crying too much. He stormed off angrily and I ran after him. The car ride was silent. I could feel the tension rising and I dared not speak a word. As we walked in, my sister and mother stood up to greet us.

"She didn't get the abortion today ..."

The tears began flowing, taking my lead my mother stood up to him for my decision. Val and I ran upstairs to my room to avoid hearing the argument between our parents. It was common for our parents to fight about everything. She was just as strong willed as he, but for something this serious it was normal for her to bend to his will. He was the man and he was the strength that kept us all partially sane and together.

Throughout the next few months, my father set up several abortion appointments and I refused every time. He tried everything from scaring me with disowning me to sending Jimi to jail, then it eventually led to reasoning with me. One of the few times my father ever cried was when we talked heart to heart. I was his little girl, and he wanted me to experience life. But, again I couldn't do it. It was decided that he would feed and house me, but I was no longer his responsibility. This was more of a scare tactic than a real decision. Because even my father got into the pregnancy and I could see the enthusiasm when he heard Miguel's heartbeat.

I had a sickly pregnancy, horribly anemic and showing every symptom of Pre-Eclampsia or Toxemia. My body gave up on me, and concentrated solely on the baby. I water gained several pounds a day easily. I was miserable but I knew I made the right decision. When there was a scare that I might truly have Toxemia, my father, without hesitation, sent me to California in fear that my son and I might die. Toxemia poisons your child attempting to abort it and you retain water to the point that you drown in your own fluids. Then when I began to think everything was getting better, I developed Obstetric Cholestasis on my 35th week. My liver could not function properly, letting poisons travel throughout my blood stream, attempting to kill the baby and then releasing through my skin in rashes. I had no other choice but to have my son at the end of thirty-six weeks, avoiding the chance of a still birth.

My father had 2 daughters with no one to carry on his name. I promised him I'd keep my last name and my children would carry his name. I named my son, Rolando Miguel Ridge-Villarreal, in honor of my father, Richard Roland Villarreal. I did eventually marry, never folding in the face of another. I am Maricella Diana Villarreal and no one can change that. No love will bend that and no society can will my actions.

As I lay with my son years later, I realize that through all the hardships I went through just to keep him, it was all worth it. Nothing could fill my soul with such complete bliss as he does. He is what I wanted, what I fought for, and what made me the woman I am today. Nothing will ever change the love my father and I have, just as nothing will change the love I have for Miguel. He was the last thing I expected and the first thing I fiercely fought for; my tears could never compete to the smiles that brighten my day.

-Maricella D. Villarreal