I want to write that it wasn’t a big deal.  I want to write that I understand the thing inside me had a heartbeat but could not be heartbroken; that my feelings of loss were based in romanticized ideals of motherhood.  
The day before the + sign appeared, I wrote:  “I’m not sure what the tears are for, that spring so suddenly.  There is sadness in your possibility, and in us not being able to meet each other.  There is sadness in knowing how well I would love you, and in knowing that for my future children and future self, I have to be selfish, now.  I was selfish, already, feeling flesh instead of latex.  It feels unfair to you, though, because all you did was triumph, and all you will do is grow and reach for love and nurturance.  I feel lucky to have a choice, but also terribly saddened by it.  The thought of you growing inside me is terrifying and stillingly peaceful at once.  I haven’t taken a test, yet, so my brain is yet to wander to the realness of decision and procedure of abortion.  Rather, I just imagine feeling you; imagine hosting and warming you, imagine the tranquility you could feel inside me.”  
My dad picked me up from the train station, after a 10-hour nauseating ride from university to my hometown.  My boyfriend met me at my house; he was wearing my favorite turtleneck of his, and a bouquet of roses sat on the kitchen table.  The days before the abortion, he stopped smoking because the faintest trace of the smell nauseated and repulsed me.  My mom took me to the Planned Parenthood clinic.  She sat in the waiting room with me, rubbing my back when I returned from puking in the restroom.  In the second waiting room, another girl waiting asked me how far along I was and if it was my first abortion.  She asked me how I felt.  
The procedure was quick and painless.  On the car ride back, I felt exhausted relief.  My nausea was gone by the time we got home. 
The intense experience of being pregnant and then suddenly not made me distance daydreams of motherhood further into my future than before my pregnancy, while simultaneously assuring the secure, strong feeling that will come with having a being growing inside me.  
My mom later shared with me about her own experience having an abortion when she was 17 years old.  She went to the clinic alone, and never told her parents; what an isolating experience it was for her, compared to mine of connectedness and supported autonomy.  
My abortion was a big deal, and something I will never forget.  My reproductive knowledge, nurturing from my own mother, love for babies, supportive social network, and acute awareness of my privilege of safe choice were all integral aspects to how I experienced and continue to experience my abortion.  
Before I took the pregnancy test, I finished writing: I will be hugely relieved if I am not pregnant.  In essence, I think I believe I am, but I also know I will feel hugely stunned if a test is positive.  I can imagine the moment of a negative test, better.  I would cry joy for you not being, yet, and for knowing that next time, I’ll be ready for you, I promise.