Written by Debbie
Hornsby
Standing there looking out at the ocean, her hair blowing
wildly around her head, Sarah knew that this was the place. This was the end, which would be the
beginning. She touched the little box in
her pocket, she smiled. This little box
that she had carried with her for so many years had stilled her heart when it
was overwhelmed. It had brought comfort,
being able to touch it when difficulties came.
This was the box that she held unto when she couldn't stop the tears
from coming. It had been years now and
the whispers that had swirled around her were now blown away in the wind. She
looked hard into the cold biting wind and grinned. She had thought maybe she wouldn't make it,
but she had persevered. She had held her
head up in the face of adversity. There
was a feeling of victory that tugged at her heart, today was not a hard
day. Today there were no tears and that alone
was a victory.
Turns out giving birth was not even the hardest part. It was the stares and gossip that were hard
in the beginning. It was the fact that they didn't want her to keep the baby;
they wanted her to keep it a secret.
That was hard and in the end she said no. It was the wearing your failure on the outside
and yet loving so much what was growing on the inside, that was hard. She loved her baby, she felt her baby and
this baby was no mistake. These things
were hard, but she was harder.
She set her mind like stone, unmovable; no matter the stares
or who turned their back upon her she would celebrate this baby. Finally they told her she was having a girl,
a sweet baby girl. Celebrate, she told
herself, “even if I am all by myself I will celebrate her.” She held her head high and she walked with
dignity. Even in church they shunned her
and claimed it was nothing to be celebrated.
She choose to not withdraw, she did not defend herself or make light of
her situation. She simply was
strong. She made the hard decisions that
most young women would choose to escape from.
There was no emergency exit as far as she was concerned. This was her baby, her girl and there was no
plan B. The harder choice was hers and
hers alone. To love and lay her life
down for this little girl, to endure the gossip and shame others would put upon
her. This was hard, but even this was not
the hardest part.
She remembers it, the hardest part. She was seven months into the pregnancy,
after picking out clothes and shoes, after buying a bassinet and a car seat
that was when it got hard. She knew
something didn't feel right, she felt crampy and tired. She started bleeding and then she went to the
hospital. She was told she was in labor,
it was too early. She watched them run
around her in a flurry as they got her admitted and gave her medication to stop
the labor. She willed herself to stop,
but her body was not listening to her heart.
In the end, it betrayed her. She
was not strong enough to stop it, and they began preparing her for
delivery.
It wasn’t the physical act now that they were worried about,
that would take care of itself. It was
the emotional aspect now. They tell her,
her baby will die. She doesn't believe
it. They speak quietly in hushed tones,
they call her parents and she continues to speak to her baby in between
contractions. She rubs her stomach and
sings to her, all the while insisting that her baby girl will not die. Then they tell her to push and in one easy push
out comes the sweet baby girl.
They
swaddle her and lay her on her stomach.
She cries and the baby cries just a little bit and then she
stops….everything goes into slow motion.
The nurse takes her baby, she begs the nurse to bring her back and the
nurse does, but her baby is still. Her
baby is quiet. She is gone, they tell
her. She holds her, she rocks her, and
she sings to her and this, this is the hardest part of her life. There is nothing that compares to this moment. This moment of holding her precious baby in
her arms and she is still and cold and somewhere in the stillness people are
talking, but all she can do is cry and kiss her baby. “She is kissed by angels now”, someone says
to her. Sarah falls into the numbness
that grief brings, her eyes staring but not really seeing. She clings to her baby as they try to get her
to turn loose. They leave her alone and
Sarah unswaddleds her baby and looks at her little hands and little toes. Tears fall onto her baby, and finally she
dries the tears that have fallen on her precious baby. Sarah wraps her back up, she lies back on the
bed holding her and waits for someone to come in and take her daughter
away. Sarah weeps bitterly into her
pillow as they take her hope away.
She remembers this was the hardest part, the unexpected
part. This was the heartache that almost
sank her. It wasn't gossip or stares, it
wasn't rejection or judgment, it was death. It was a future not lived, a hope
gone, an entire picture of her future now rearranged. This had been the hardest part, unexpected
loss. Weeks turned to months and months
turned to years.
Now here she was, standing on the edge of the huge ocean,
hope filling her heart. She had
survived, some would even say thrived.
She had kept living when she didn't think she could. She kept breathing and moving even though her
heart was shattered into a million tiny pieces.
There had been a grace collision somewhere in the midst of all the
pain. A friend who had come alongside of
her, grace and mercy that had been poured out and she had found the strength to
carry on. It wasn't easy, every day was
a new challenge, wrapped with pain until finally it was duller. It was never gone; even now it was her
constant companion. Her heart was larger
now, it had to be. She couldn't possibly
have contained all the sorrow with the joy that came. Her heart had to grow just as surely as life
had to change.
More children came, they were loved dearly. To have lost one causes you to hold on that
much tighter and so she did. Her husband
loved her and she loved him and they built a life together that was solid and
messy, but beautiful all the same. She
looked at him often and wondered how she could have not known that life could
be this good. If only she had known that
this love would come, maybe it would have dulled the pain somewhat, made it
easier to let go. If only she had known
there was really true love, not perfect but true. If she had known that more
children would never replace Hope, but she would find herself loving them and
experiencing joy again. Maybe if she
would have known these things the journey might have been different. Not that life was perfect and it was somehow
all better, it was still at times hard, but she had already lived through the
hardest of things, so she stood strong when the storms came. She was unmoved by them, for she knew she
would survive. She knew it would work
out, one way or the other.
So here she was, patting the little box and looking out at the
vast ocean. As far as she could see it
was water and sand. She pulled the box
out and opened it gently and took the tiny hospital bracelet out.
She remembered the nurse asking, what would you like her name to
be? She could still remember the effort
it took to speak her name. Hope, she had
said. Her name is Hope. The seasoned nurse choked up and made eye
contact, placed her hand on hers and said quietly, that’s a beautiful
name.
She holds the hospital bracelet gently and she looks out at
the ocean and she feels the winds of change blow through her tangled hair. In
the distance she hears her children laughing, and it makes her heart swell with
joy. There is life still to be
celebrated. She knows now the hope of heaven. She
doesn't have to keep carrying hope in a tiny little box, because now she sees
Hope all around her. She will keep the
tiny little box with the hospital bracelet, but now she can leave it at
home. Today she will tuck it away with
handmade Birthday cards and noodle necklaces from her kids and she will have hope,
not in a tiny little box but in a great big heart that knows the giver of all
hope.
She will never understand, but she
will always have hope. She has hope
today and she has hope for the future. She
pictured them now as two in the same, both named hope. This was the new beginning, the letting go,
the stepping out, the hope for tomorrow and she smiled at the future as she put
the little box back in her pocket. Every
day Sarah could honor Hope and share hope, but not from a tiny little box,
instead from a life well lived and a story of Hope shared.
