A Eulogy for Roe v. Wade: “You Are a Part of All of Us, and You Changed Us in Ways No Supreme Court Justice Can Take Away”

For weeks, since we heard your final prognosis, I’ve been steeling my spine and building a moat around my heart to prepare myself for losing you. I read dozens of articles about what you’ve meant to this nation, to women’s health and empowerment, and to individual women whose lives you saved. I listened to activists and pundits cementing your legacy, I marched in your honor, and I pledged solidarity to you long after you’re gone. There were sleepless nights, worrying about how your loss will endanger people’s lives. But none of that mattered. When I heard the news this morning that you were taken from us, all that preparation turned to dust.

You are dead, Roe, and I am heartsick.

I am 44 years old, just five years younger than you, so I’ve known you my whole life. I haven’t lived a day on this planet without you; I thought I never would. And I’m embarrassed to say that I took you for granted. I thought you’d always be here for us, protecting women and giving them the right to make meaningful choices about their own bodies. If I could go back in time, I’d remember to tell you how much you mean to me, and I’d take on any bully that tried to hurt you. In my time machine, I’d fight for your honor and work harder to make space for women to share their abortion stories without shame.

I called my younger sister after I heard about your passing. We cried together. She told me that because of you, she never felt unequal or less-than. But now she does. Now she must raise her daughter to somehow believe that she’s not less valuable than her son, and she doesn’t know how to do that. She feels lost without you, Roe.

I think about your legacy, and I know you changed the world for all women, not just those of us who are pro-choice. In the last 100 years, we’ve gone from 8 million to 80 million women in the workforce, and I know we owe so much of that to you. You gave us autonomy. You taught us that we are strong enough and smart enough to make decisions for ourselves about our bodies and whether we are ready to take on the hardest job of all: parenthood.

We don’t yet know what this nation—this world—will be like without you, Roe. But one thing I know for sure is that you are a part of me, a part of all of us, and you changed us forever in ways that no Supreme Court justice can ever take away.

In the last few weeks, I’ve been thinking about what you’d want us to do now that you are gone, how we can honor your legacy. For starters, I know you’d want women and their allies to be there for each other. Your death hurts, and it is a time to grieve. We will feel the shock of the betrayal and the pain of your loss for many weeks and months. In the immediate future, we must also remember that Roe’s impact is not uniformly dismissed—many states will retain her rights. Those of us lucky enough to live in those states may be called upon to offer support to the ones who don’t, and we must answer.

But then we must move forward without you, Roe. This struggle isn’t over, and it’s up to us now to take the baton and run the next leg. These are our bodies—our lives—and they are worth fighting for. In practical terms, that might mean having uncomfortable conversations with people we care about. It might mean getting off the bench and becoming an activist, a feminist, or even running for office. It might mean lending our voices, our talents, our resources, and our passion to women’s rights coalitions and women’s health services.

Whatever it means, it’s up to us to do it. Maybe we can’t ever revive you, Roe. But maybe because of you something better, stronger, and more sustainable will rise in your place.

Rest in peace, Roe. Know that we will not let you down.

And, say hi to Ruth.