The story you are about to read is true; yes, there are "stretchers" strewn about, but the basic story is all too real. This story is told through the eyes of Lorraine's little brother, Poncho, and what he was going through at the time. ***** Every morning when I wake up, my sister, Lorraine, invades my mind. There's nothing I can do to stop it. It wasn't always that way. At one time, the only thought I had when awakened in the morning was that I did not want to be awakened. I hated having to get up. How did this happen? I don't know, and there isn't a doctor in the world who can say they know definitively. If they claim they know, they're not telling the truth. I do know this: it started sometime after my sister became pregnant. She did not know what to do. And at that time in our history in the '60s and early '70s, what to do was simple enough""marry the guy who knocked you up. For my sister, and I'm sure for many other women, it was not that simple. Abortion""to most, it's either a bad thing or a good thing; it's good versus evil. It's God versus Satan. I've heard that abortion is a social concern. I've heard that abortion is an economic concern. I've heard that abortion is a religious concern. I've heard that abortion is a convenience, and that's a concern. I've heard that abortion is a stigma, and that's a concern. I've heard that abortion is murder, plain and simple. I've heard that abortion is a woman's right; after all, it's her body, plain and simple. But it's not so simple, is it? In the '60s and early '70s abortion was illegal. And having one was dangerous unless you had access to the right people. And having access to the right people usually meant you had money""and lots of it. You were paying for a service and to have that service kept secret. My family was not rich. Then came Roe v. Wade and abortion became legal. But legal doesn't mean acceptable. You see, accepting something that was unacceptable, especially morally unacceptable, takes time. For an individual, it may take no more time than a ride to the clinic; but for groups, it takes time""days, weeks, months, years. This I call "delayed acceptance." Still, for some, acceptance never comes. When I wake up in the morning, I think about my sister's decision. And I wonder if she made the decision. And I wonder something more nefarious. Did someone decide for her? And I wonder if things would have been different if Roe v. Wade had been there in time.