Thursday, May 5, 2011

The day I hated God

A life spent lacking in love’s knowledge led me to a desperate search for the elusive secret others seemed to be whispering about, sharing with each other, and leaving me out of.
10/29/87
I kept thinking the heat would smother me before my shift at the shoe store ended that day. I had worn an oversized sweater to hide a middle that had yet to begin thickening.  I was in a hurry for things to happen, the little bump, the first flutter, labor, and then the ultimate gift, holding my baby. I was 18, and completely adoring the idea of finally being able to love and be loved; a child to call my own.
It wasn’t a secret, not really, I had no one to answer to; yet for those blessed 8 weeks I kept the news of my pregnancy to myself. This was all mine, it was my baby, my life, my love.  I wanted to shout from the rooftops that I knew everyone’s secret, I felt it growing day by day, but instead held the knowledge close to my heart. If I told, that meant sharing and I was greedy right then, drinking in and becoming drunk on this newfound feeling inside of me.
The first pain hit as I bent down to stuff another woman’s foot into an overpriced shoe meant for fashion, not comfort.  It wasn’t alarming, not yet, just an unexpected cramp which I decided to blame on all of the stretching for boxes on high shelves, the pressure of trying to please unpleasant customers, and the constant ups and downs of shoes on, shoes off.  
I don’t remember when the waves of pain hit, only the panic, the immediate feeling of loss over something I had waited so long to find. I was young, naïve, but not stupid. I knew what was happening. Although I know I rushed to the employee bathroom, it now seems to have taken forever to reach.  I’m sure it was only a few seconds, but my mental sojourn to the past takes long minutes to locate the door when wandering down that corridor of memory. Perhaps it’s my way of holding onto that little life that was inside of me for just a bit longer. A way of remembering the joy just a moment more before I turn the handle, open the door and get hit once again with overwhelming loss.
I tried to pretend the sticky feeling wasn’t there, coating my undergarments with little pieces of life; tried telling myself the pain was normal, just my body growing, stretching and making room for the baby I wanted so badly. I even stooped so low as to pray to a God I had no belief in to save this little gift inside of me.  The pretending was over the moment I sat down and watched the bowls water become tinted with the blood flowing freely from my body. The pain was intense, the loneliness of loss overwhelming, but I turned it off, choosing instead to shield myself once again in numbness, feeling punished for ever wanting to feel life, and know love.
Forgetting I had been pregnant just a breath ago, I reached for the community box of tampons and went through the steps I had taken each month for years prior, refusing to acknowledge  that this was no normal period. It was the “plop” of falling cotton that brought me back to reality. Looking down, I saw the tampon I had just inserted floating in the water, becoming bloated with fluid, reminding me that my body was going through the birthing process, dilating in order to expel the life I wanted so badly. I hated God, I hated life, I shut down, almost completely. Going into auto-pilot I found a pad, made sure there were no tell tale remnants of the horror I had just gone through, opened the door and went back to work. 
My expression must have made it obvious that something monumental had just happened, something life changing and painful, but no one asked. I had kept a distance all these months from my co-workers and they had no desire to get close now, especially now when my face must have been stuck in a silent scream of “stay away!”
I was in the bathroom every 30 minutes, bleeding, changing, bleeding, changing, but still the numbness remained. It was near the end of my work day when the fog finally cleared long enough for me to wonder at a minute splash as I sat there once again. Looking down, it didn’t take long for me to realize what was in that porcelain bowl of water; My life, my essence, my baby, floating in waste, waiting to be flushed and mixed with life’s garbage. The numbness receded, replaced by a wave of hopeless emotion as I stood there trying to find the courage to push the handle and watch this little piece of me swirl down the drain, leaving me forever.
It was a knock on the door that told me I had spent too long looking, too long trying to conjure non-existent courage.  I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t, I couldn’t, I could not do it!
My hands shook as I held the little Dixie cup and gently scooped this little piece of flesh, my heart, my blood, from its watery grave. I didn’t look at it, couldn’t bring myself to look closely at this tiny, tiny creature. Yes, that’s what it had become. All feelings of love had flowed out of me with this lost life. A moment later I left the bathroom, my little burden wrapped in paper towels and put it in my hand bag.
My purse became my own elephant in that little break room. I could hear it crying out to me from the sales floor. Reaching out, grabbing hold of my heart each time I perused the stock shelves for a box of shoes. By the time I clocked out, my mind was screaming for freedom from the chains that were wrapping around it, tying me to the burden of a life lost, cradled in a little cup, a paper coffin.
The weight of my purse was like a brick as I walked out of the mall that night. I couldn’t stand the thought of what was inside, could no longer bear the thought of having my tiny dead baby with me a moment longer. I had to let go. I didn’t look as I reached into my bag, grabbing hold of this little piece of me one last time. Walking past the community dumpster, I tossed it in, no goodbyes, no tears, only blessed numbness.
It’s been almost 24 years and there are still days I wonder what might have been, what could have been had I done things differently. Could a doctor have saved my baby? Should I have flushed and never looked at what had once been growing in me, depending on me for life? Was I wrong in what I did that night?
I have never shared this tale before now, choosing instead to hold it close as a personal burden to be carried, another choice gone wrong. Every decision we make sends ripples throughout our life’s ocean and I now realize that there is only one way in which to calm the waves, bring peace to our waters.
I blamed God, denied Him in my need to find reasons for all of the pain my life piled upon me. I now know it wasn’t God’s hand that caused so much hurt, rather the world’s evil, Satan himself that brings destruction.  I may not have known it at the time, but Jesus was with me that day. He cried with me, took the pain with me and lay in bed with me for the days after as I contemplated ending it all. He was my strength when I had none left of my own.
I don’t have the answers for why I lost something I so desperately wanted, I no longer need them. I do know though, had I known God’s love at that time, I wouldn’t have sought so hard to find it in all the wrong places.
 Thank you Jesus for showing me what true love really is.



12 comments:

  1. Powerful and so very raw, especially this: I don't have the answers for why I lost something I so desperately wanted...

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  2. This is a heartbreaking post DeeLynn, but I am so very glad you wrote it. I know there have to be others out there who have gone through similar experiences who need to hear they are not alone. Your bravery and courage are testimony to what is possible when an individual receives healing from their Maker. Sending a big hug your way, Elizabeth.

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  3. That was a beautiful post on such a sad event. Thank you for sharing your story. Though I've never lost a child, I'm sure someone may stumble across this post and it will lift their spirts. And thank God for your last comment, "Thank you Jesus for showing me what true love really is."

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  4. DeeLynn, I was moved by this post. I can't imagine how utterly devastating this experience must've been for you at the time. Your courage is admirable and I'm glad that you've been able to find peace. But more importantly, it's incredible how your experience served to show you God's love. I'm awestruck by your fortitude and understanding. Thank you for sharing.

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  5. Cathy, Elizabeth, Dawn, Bella. I want each of you to know how very much it means to me that you not only took the time to read this extra long post, but commented on it as well. As difficult as it is to go down memory lane, I know that this may help someone else who is hurting and that makes it worth the trip.
    Blessings,
    Denise

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  6. Dear DeeLynn, thank you for sharing such a painful and personal story. It's very brave (braver than attending an audition!). Sending you much love, isabelle

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  7. DeeLynn, this is a very sad story. It makes you wonder: who decides, and why? Your lost baby is, I am sure, watching over you from somewhere, like an angel.

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  8. WOW! The way you capture the imagery is so heartbreaking but in ways provide relief for even the reader. God was with you and it is his love that you are able to share. Moments like this are hard to forget but time assuages wounds.

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  9. I haven't commented on this even thought I've read it several times. Anything I say just doesn't seem right, or enough.

    I am so sorry this happened, and I am amazed at your strength in sharing this.

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  10. These amazing comments are the exact reason I share, wosushi. I truly appreciate you taking the time to let me know you were here, reading my story. As much as the journey back hurts at times, being able to share has been a lareg part of the healing.

    Mumu, I'm not sure why it didn't occur to me before both you and my husband mentioned it, but you are right. I know my baby is watching and waiting to meet me one day.

    Mimi, thank you so much for your amazing words.

    God Bless

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  11. I stumbled across She Writes and Book Blogs, simply by accident approx two weeks ago. And although I cannot really remember how I did that, I am guessing that I saw "She Writes" advertisement on Facebook. This stumbling pattern has continued as I investigate this amazing world of books and writers. Books are my passion, and writing is a hope, (poetry). The reason I mention this is because it was during this stumbling around today that I reached "The Painted Box". Your page looks familiar so maybe this is my second stumble!!
    On your She Writes page you are Denise Fisher, but on this page you are DeeLynn - possibly Denise Lynn Fisher? I am noticing that at times, people post and blog under different names, so I am wondering if I should? I don't know - I have not even set up a Blog outside of She Writes, and am still trying to figure that out as well!!
    On your She Writes page you mention you would appreciate Followers, and possibly even a critique. I have just signed up to be one of your Followers, and I would humbly like to critique "The Day I Hated God". I was drawn to this title, as it had a familiar ring. I have had those feelings, those days. I figure God's a big guy - He can take it.
    Your writing style and words drew me in within the first sentence. You pulled me closer and closer to the story; so much so that I was literally getting closer and closer to my computer screen!! The language, sentence structure was simply beautiful. I was right there beside you as your baby's life flowed out of you. I began to think this must be real, has to be real. When I started reading I did not know if what I was reading was real or not. In either event, it became very real indeed. I cried as you described your multiple trips to the Ladies' Room; felt pain for you as you first wandered down that blurry hallway to locate the place you would have previously visited many times. I cried as you went through the rest of your day, and as you walked home carrying the child whose short life would have had some purpose - which only you would know. Even though you may have struggled with there being a God, I am so joyful that Jesus made himself known to you.
    I feel honoured to have shared this part of your life with you; blessed as a reader, and joyful in Our Lord.
    Thank you, Denise, for sharing such a private experience in such a beautiful way, and sharing that experience with us, your readers.
    Thank you and God Bless You, Patricia.
    P.S. Thank you for reading this extra long post!

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  12. Hi, Patricia. Thank you so much for all you said. I sent you a message on SW
    God Bless!

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