The forgotten
Have you ever experienced a time when you felt like your feet were kicked out from under you? Life was cruising along—and suddenly, you found yourself in a very serious situation?
Sometimes when crisis, loss or trauma strikes, we don’t remember some of the details. We deal with the obvious emergency at hand. We cry the tears, we make the phone calls, and we walk or stumble down the road we’re on. The road we never would’ve chosen.
Today on Choosing Peace, we’ll explore some of the forgotten people—the forgotten details.
Hidden
Truth be told, I’m a little shocked to find myself writing part 8 of When the Need to Forgive Has Been Hidden. I don’t think I was ever so relieved to finish a set of posts. They were deep and challenging. In fact, I tried to convince myself that today’s post was about denial, but I think not. I tend to think of denial as mental gymnastics—I mean lying to myself. And today’s story is really about two people I forgot. They weren’t at the center of the story, so I forgot about them. Until I didn’t.
The first seven parts of When the Need to Forgive Has Been Hidden explored many things: Adapting—why difficult childhood realities were hidden (part 1), my own hidden abuse and neglect (part 2), someone we wanted to forget (part 3), the accomplices (part 4), forgiving people for their impact (part 5), being rescued from abuse (part 6), and hidden enemies (part 7).
Part 2 through part 6—five out of those seven posts—included dreams. God used many dreams to show us the truth. To wake us up. To reveal what had been hidden.
In today’s story, God used something different. He didn’t use dreams. He used my tears.
Unexpected
Twelve years ago, my life was different. I worked as a special education teachers’ aide at a public school, and our family attended a different church. One of our Sunday school class members led a wonderful class on grieving. After one of the ladies mentioned how sweet the nurses were to their daughter in the hospital, I got very teary-eyed and cried for a while. Have I mentioned how much I dislike crying in front of people? I do.
The nurse
Hearing the words sweet and nurses triggered memories of my own experience when our baby, Joshua, died six years earlier. Most of the nurses were wonderful. I sent some of them thank-you notes. But the nurse assigned to me after our baby was stillborn wasn’t wonderful. At all. She’d experienced a similar loss; but even so, I could tell that she did not want to work with me. Not warm and fuzzy. I had to ask her for a clean gown after I got to my room at 2 A.M.
The doctor
And then I was discharged right after 8 A.M. The doctor who delivered our baby came in, said I was okay, and that I could go home. Exhausted and distraught, I didn’t have the energy or brain power to discuss the issue or argue about it. “Delivered a baby just before midnight; got to my room at 2 A.M.; kicked out at 8 A.M.” That’s how it felt anyway. Maybe the doctor thought I’d rather be home than in the hospital. I love Brandon and Logan, but I really needed to stay in the hospital, rest, and be babied—at least for a few hours—by some sweet nurses. Going home meant expectations. It meant looking at unfinished tasks piling up that I couldn’t deal with. It meant having to think about other people’s needs. It meant crying in front of people. Ugh.
Unfinished business
I obviously needed to think about these things. If the thought of them made me cry and it was so hard to stop crying, there was unfinished business.
Unknown details
First, I thought about the nighttime nurse. She was older. Maybe I came at the end of a long shift. Maybe she was dealing with a big loss in her own life. Maybe I reminded her of the baby she lost years ago. Maybe she didn’t feel good. Since I didn’t walk in her shoes, I had no idea what she was dealing with, you know? I realized—given the boo-hoo fest—that I needed to lay that down. I needed to forgive her, so I did. Hopefully she’s doing better now.
What about the first-thing-in-the-morning discharge? I didn’t know what else was going on in the maternity ward that morning. Maybe it was a full house and they had ladies stuck in other wings just waiting for a room so they could be close to their new babies. Maybe the insurance company said: “Get her out now.” Who knows? Maybe the doctor really felt like he was doing what was best for me. I hope so. Anyway, I had to let go of that too, and just admit that I didn’t know everything they were dealing with that day. That’s okay. And they didn’t have any idea that I wanted to stay! Let’s not ignore the obvious. People aren’t mind-readers (and that’s a good thing).
Understanding
I’ve had crazy days at work, especially as a Child Protective Services caseworker, when the phone was ringing off the wall, messages were piling up, and the days were just about juggling people and circumstances the best I could. I’m sure people felt shuffled around by me. I understand—at least a little. The 8 A.M. thing wasn’t about me. When I step back and wonder about someone else’s point of view, it’s a lot easier to forgive and not take things personally.
1-2-3
Thankfully, this healing process was quick, like the one I described in the last post, The Right Name. I cried at church—yikes—and the reason for the crying told me loud and clear: Frankie Ann, something is wrong here. Do something about it. So I did. (1) I thought about why I was crying, (2) I came to a place of understanding for the nurse and the doctor, and (3) I forgave them.
Grieving isn’t always a long, drawn-out process.
Sometimes we just need to tie up loose ends.
Gratitude
Even though it was 18 years ago, I remember the nurse with the beautiful European accent who checked on me before Joshua died. I was reading my Bible, and our conversation blessed me deeply. Jesus held my hand through the nurse’s words. I felt his presence, his tenderness and his love. My delivery nurse was also a great blessing. Kind, attentive, wonderful. I was given a cap for Joshua’s head, made by ladies in the community. I was given time to spend with him before he was taken away.
Thank you, sweet ladies. You really made a difference.
A letter to medical professionals
Most people understand the importance of showing respect to a person’s body after he or she dies. I’d like to see the respect and care we show to someone who’s lived for a while extended to our stillborn babies.
If your beloved spouse died and the employees in the hospital were careless—dropping your husband’s or your wife’s body, resulting in an injured head or face—you might be very unhappy about that. You’d know that your spouse didn’t feel it; and yet, your beloved wasn’t treated with proper care—like the important body that housed his or her spirit for a lifetime. The body is all you have left, and it matters how your loved one’s body is treated.
This issue bears repeating. I’d like to see the respect and care we show to someone who’s lived for a while extended to our stillborn babies. A coworker and I were talking at work about our stillborn sons. One of them was unnecessarily delivered with forceps, badly deforming his head. The other baby’s umbilical cord was never removed from being wrapped around his neck—which caused his death. The way our babies looked that day is the only visual memory we’ll have of them. The photos—something very treasured that we got to keep—show babies who weren’t considered worthy of gentle, thoughtful care. Since they didn’t survive, they were treated like things. Those boys were never things. They were and will always be our beloved sons—created by God.
Please treat their little bodies with gentleness and kindness. Don’t add to our indescribable pain because you’re in a hurry or because you think it doesn’t matter. We’ll wait longer for our turn. That’s okay. We understand the needs of others. But please take the extra time when it’s our turn. Our hearts are worth it. Our babies are worth it.
If you’ve never held your dead child, you can’t understand how we feel. Be thankful if you don’t understand how we feel. You may not see many tears today, but they’ll flow like rivers tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day…. Please tend to all of our sons and daughters carefully. A woman whose baby has died is in shock. She can’t advocate for herself or her baby. She may say things that don’t make sense. She may not be able to speak at all.
We need you to be our advocates.
We need you.
The teacher
The coworker I mentioned above was a warm and gifted math teacher. I’ll call her Dena. I always looked forward to being in her classroom. Dena had a peaceful and joyful spirit. There was something very special about her. Dena’s mother-in-law wrote this beautiful poem as she mourned for her lost grandson.
Tommy Jake
Our precious, tiny Tommy Jake,
For you this day our hearts do ache.
Such a perfect little body you had,
That you couldn’t stay made us very sad.
Great plans for you had been made,
From our hearts you will never fade.
We know you’re cradled in God’s arms
Where no one can ever cause you harm.
Your hand and footprints to home were sent.
But on our hearts you left your print.
Though tiny, so small, so very wee,
Never forgotten by your family.
Never forgotten…
One and done
Did I mention that I met my friends Charlene and Summer when we worked together at the school? Yep. Charlene was a special education teacher, and Summer and I were aides. One of the special ed teachers was younger and had a spunky way about her. Let’s call her Ashley. “One and done” was one of Ashley’s great expressions. It meant: “You get to take a drink from one water fountain, little cutie pie—not from each and every water fountain in the hall.” Translation: “Let’s get it done and not dilly-dally.” That’s a good way to handle forgiving too. One and done.
Receiving and giving
Have I always handled things right? No. Have I always been thoughtful? No. Have I always said and done the right thing? Certainly not. I appreciate the graciousness and forgiveness others have shown to me in my less-than-ideal moments or chapters. So I need to extend “one and done” forgiving to others—period—no matter how sad or bad I may have felt as a result of their actions or failure to act.
Paid in full
Forgiving is a decisive choice. The debt is paid—in full. That reminds me of Point #18 of What Forgiving Is and Isn’t: “Forgiving isn’t a tool for control.” Translation: “No post-forgiving punishing permitted, peeps.” (To see the list of What Forgiving Is and Isn’t, go here.) If you need a good laugh today, check out the menu for The Dysfunctional Family Diner and read about Point #7: “Forgiving doesn’t mean rejecting or sabotaging natural consequences.” Long story short: Punishing and natural consequences are two very different things. Punishing? Bad. Natural consequences? Good.
Peaceful Readers, here’s a biggie from the first post in this series:
Forgiving is like taking out the trash in my own heart and mind.
Fire or trash
I was asked whether I wanted our Joshua’s tiny body to be burned or thrown out in the trash. Our son was not trash. His little body was not trash. He was beautiful.
I chose fire.
Trust
God made him, and Joshua’s death revealed something hidden. It wasn’t until later that year, after I switched to another OB/GYN practice, that I found out about my hereditary blood clotting disorder. I never would’ve known that if I hadn’t experienced an unusual pregnancy loss. Hmmm. Sometimes we don’t understand why, and that’s okay. But sometimes we get a glimpse at the bigger picture, and that is very comforting, to be sure.
God uses our tragedies to turn our lives into something more beautiful—
if we allow him proper access to our hearts and minds.
We are his handiwork.
You may remember these important words from the remarkable story of Esther: “Nothing is wasted. Trust in the Lord.” For more about Joshua and The Season of Grieving his death, see this post, from The Shocking Loss to the end.
Wrap-up
How does God let us know we have some unfinished business to take care of?
♦ He tells us in dreams. (See the list of dreams in this post.)
♦ He tells us in unexpected thoughts. (See part 1 and part 2 of Intrusive Thoughts.)
♦ He tells us when other people comment about our behavior. (See an example here.)
♦ And he tells us in tears and other unexpected emotions.
That’s truly amazing, when you think about it. God can tell us about our unfinished business when we’re asleep or when we’re awake. He can tell us directly or through someone else. And he can use our raw emotions like a flashing warning light.
He can and he does.
Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised;
and his greatness is unsearchable.
Psalm 145:3, King James Version
For more of my 12 favorite scriptures, read The Beauty of the Bible, part 1.
Coming next: We’ll be digging into the four barriers or roadblocks to forgiving—pride, fear, anger and denial. I’m not sure which one we’ll explore first, but I’m definitely leaning toward denial given my extensive experience in that area.
Thanks for reading and for Choosing Peace.
Truth from The Word: Philippians 4:12-13
Song: “In This Darkness” by Ginny Owens
Be blessed by singer/songwriter Ginny Owens as she talks about “In This Darkness” during this interview.
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