Even with eyes to see, you do not.

In a spasmatic fit I listened to an interview with a member of the radio liberal elite and an author of the same clan. Terry Gross from NPR's Fresh Air was interviewing the writer Peggy Orenstein on her book "Waiting for Daisy: A Tale of Two Continents, Three Religions, Five Infertility Doctors, an Oscar, an Atomic Bomb, a Romantic Night and One Woman's Quest to Become a Mother." Late in her child bearing years she attempted to have a baby by multiple means and during the process had a miscarriage. In a state of grief that haunted her for quite a while, she took part in a Japanese memorial ceremony called a mizuko kuyo (水子 供養).

So far, nothing noteworthy save that she is Jewish (more from birth than from continued adherence to the faith it seemed) and involving herself in a ceremony rife with Buddhist ideas of the watery nature of birth and old age, reincarnations, etc. etc. It is when Ms. Gross asked the author this that I searched for the OnStar button.

So in recognizing the loss you felt losing your baby at three months and also at the same time being very pro-choice ... thinking abortion is ok and you're not killing a fully formed human being ... how did you reconcile the two? And what sort of language did you use ... I mean ... because when you talk about an abortion you talk about a fetus, but when you talk about a miscarriage you talk about losing a baby ...

The author responds:

I think I lost the dream of a child when I thought I was pregnant. And this ceremony was very important to me in dealing with that ... I wished it well on its next life.

How convenient. I'm not murdering a completely innocent child when I abort it. I'm just handing it off to someone else who wants it. Just like regifting that ugly vase my mother-in-law gave me to Alice for her wedding. How can you feel such loss and be so upset by what happened to you and then pass it off as an internal struggle fraught with painful emotions only about yourself and how it affected you.

That's like watching your friend get hit over the head on his way back from the bar with your appletini and feeling sad that you'll have to go up and reorder one for yourself. Forget about the friend, it was the potential enjoyment you could have received from that drink.

My stomach still turns in revulsion.