Embracing Grace

Forgiveness. It’s an interesting concept.

I have asked myself for whom is forgiveness really?

Is it for the person who is compelled to forgive? Or is it  for the one to be forgiven?

I have often wondered if I need to tell them that I have forgiven them. Is it enough that I release that burden from within my heart once I forgive them?

We are  flawed human beings having a human experience. We will make mistakes as we move through our lifetime, no matter what age we are. It is my belief that we are given a beautiful opportunity to gain experience from our mistakes.

There is almost always a lesson to be learned.

Whether we choose to learn from that lesson is our choice. That’s our free will at work, and so is forgiveness. I frequently hear Karma being used in a negative context. Karma isn’t always bad. Much of our Western culture misunderstands Karma and how it works in our lives. If Karma did play out the way some imagined, it is punishment for hurt we caused whether it was intentional or not. In reality, Karma simply put; is cause and effect. It is neither negative nor positive.

I understand the thought that Karma would punish those who intentionally inflict pain upon others. However, if it is unintentional pain inflicted, does Karma seek to punish, regardless of the circumstance? To take it a step deeper: If we make an unintentional, egregious error and we learned a life altering lesson, would Karma still dole out a punishment?

One of the most painful lessons of my life happened when I was in my early thirties. I had just entered into private practice. I marvel at what a completely different person I was back then and how one event literally changed the person I was on a professional level. More profoundly, on a personal level, too. I was easily swayed by those with stronger personalities, and I had a deep-seated need to make everyone around me happy. Suffice it to say, I was given multiple opportunities to listen to my intuition, to do something different day that may have provided a different outcome for an innocent baby.

I will carry that with me until my last breath.

Tragically, the baby was born severely compromised, requiring a 911 transfer and lengthy hospital stay. A horrific diagnosis of severe brain damage. And it was primarily my fault.

It was a painful reality that took me years to fully come to terms with. I expected from the beginning the family would sue us and the obstetrician. I had a very pragmatic thought process surrounding it. Their baby would require home care due to his severe brain damage which would cost millions of dollars if he lived to adulthood. They needed deep pockets and a way to pay for it. Suing us made sense to me and I understood it. That was my logical side. My emotional side was unprepared for the ugliness of it all.

I didn’t consider the half-truths, hatred, and outright lies that they would engage in to “win” their case. Again, I understood their anger and their inability to accept any responsibility for the outcome. I knew the heaviness of guilt and the responsibility that I carried. I imagined for them that would be too much for their hearts to bear. So, if they needed to vilify me, so be it. That doesn’t mean that it wasn’t traumatic. It took years to heal and learn to forgive myself. I still carry those scars with me as a painful reminder that I failed an innocent baby.

Afterwards, I spent two and a half years in a deep depression, withdrawing from my family torturing myself in my own private hell. I was questioning my career choice while constantly replaying that baby’s birth in my head. At first, I was unable to grasp my full responsibility in that outcome. It took me at least a year before it began to slowly reveal itself. Our brains have a beautiful protective mechanism that keeps the full truth hidden from us until we are ready to face it.

From the very beginning, when she requested an induction, I should have transferred care without delay. I did not. That was the first opportunity I had to make a different management decision and there would be profound consequences to  my inaction. Several other opportunities were presented that I ignored as well.

Yes, it was my fault.

 I was guilty of trying to please them by my codependent need to give them the birth they desired. It was never intentional to keep them at my birth center regardless of the cost; had I known there was any chance that he would be born like he was, I absolutely never would have continued to care for them at my center. Ever.

After years of carrying guilt and shame over that baby’s birth; after years of allowing the family to publicly slander me because I thought I deserved it; after years of soul searching if I were indeed on the path God wanted me on; I decided that I would continue with my calling as a midwife. I told myself  things would be different, moving forward. I held my head high every time I walked into my birth center, I knew I was a good midwife, it was a gift and was my soul’s purpose, and this was what I was supposed to do.

It was my calling.

Fast forward a few years. I had been out of town visiting my daughter in California, on the hour-long ride back to our home from the airport, Rick gently broke the news to me; that baby boy now a toddler, had died. I sobbed and wailed for the tragedy of it all. I despised the fact that a baby died, and it was directly due to my care. I knew in my heart, I did the absolute best I was capable of at that time, but self-loathing followed me around for a good portion of my career. Even though it was a very public case, my practice continued to grow each and every year. I held onto the fact that women and families still trusted me to care for them and I was determined that I would never have an outcome like that again.

It wasn’t until my outcomes were better than the average midwife and obstetrician that my shame began to dissipate. When I had attended over two thousand births and could now look at my stats as statistically significant, was I worthy of the title, “safe practitioner.” My diligent care and subsequent good outcomes were no accident, it was intentional. I changed how I practiced, how I interacted with my clients because I swore to myself, I would never allow another family to endure what they did.

Yes, I had a higher transfer rate than other midwives. Yes, my colleagues labeled me as “too medical,” but I didn’t care. I was the one that needed to be able to sleep at night knowing that I was providing safe care. I promised myself that if I had another outcome like that one, I would walk away from this profession for good. That was unthinkable, because even with the pain it had caused me early on in my career, it also filled me with immense joy.

Being a midwife fed my soul. It completed me.

I carried that baby on my left shoulder for the remainder of my career. Every day, I was reminded of him. Every management decision I made was with him in mind and the ways I had failed him. While I am proud of my outcomes over the twenty-four years that I practiced. While my statistics were well above average for me it wasn’t about that. I was simply keeping a promise to a sweet little baby that taught me so much about myself. In turn, every good outcome I recorded healed my heart birth after birth.

Eventually the guilt and shame I carried for a decade was replaced with grace and forgiveness for that baby midwife who didn’t know any better.

I hoped that someday, the family would find forgiveness in their hearts. Not for my peace of mind, but for theirs. I personally knew that kind of hatred was like a festering wound, and I wanted them to be released from that. Forgiveness happens automatically when our hearts have healed. I’m not sure that we can ever heal from the loss of a child, so how could they forgive me? It was out of my hands; nothing I could say or do could heal their hearts. They had every right to feel whatever they felt towards me because ultimately I was the person who flipped their world upside down.

If they were never able to forgive me, was that not completely understandable? Look how long it took me to forgive myself!

If she only knew that  during every management decision I had to make, during every complication and challenging birth, I thought of her baby.

No. Forgetting her baby was impossible for me.

Every year, I remember him and his birthday and say a little prayer that his family will someday have peace. This information would be of little consolation for her mama heart. So, I’ve remained silent.

Today, I decided to check my author’s e mail. I hadn’t been checking it since my website had gone live. There was one new message, and as I read the familiar name my heart leapt into my throat.

I sat there for the longest time staring at the familiar name as the memories from that day so many years ago came flooding back as if they happened yesterday. I kept reading and re-reading the single word on the subject line.

Forgiveness.

Was it possible?

It was highly unlikely. I was hesitant to open it, recalling the other hateful correspondence I had received from  her through the years. I didn’t want to open it. But this one said “Forgiveness.” I continued to stare at it. Surprised that for the first time, my heart  felt apathetic towards the name staring back at me, when before seeing that name struck a nerve forcing a myriad of sensations simultaneously. Fear. Guilt. Shame. Sadness. Self-loathing. Understanding. Empathy.

But this time. It no longer held the power over me that it had for nearly three decades.

Ironically, I too have been working on forgiveness. As I printed the names in my journal, I realized I had already healed. With that, forgiveness had naturally followed. I knew I didn’t need to write to each of those who had hurt me and tell them of my forgiveness. I could “set an intention” and that would be enough. It startled me a bit that here was this message of “forgiveness” from someone whom I also needed to forgive, and her name was on my list.

Needless to say, I read the email. It only took me reading a few sentences to realize she still has a long way to go before forgiveness for me will be authentic. That being said, I completely understand. I was proud of her for even considering forgiveness. It is indeed a process that starts as a seed and can possibly grow from there. It’s a start and for that I was grateful.

I remember the pain, the  self-loathing, and guilt I felt for all those years. I spent two years grieving and was severely depressed. I withdrew from my family. I believe most men would have grown tired of my sadness, but not Rick. I recall that last time that I sat in the dark, alone and crying. Wishing things could be different for that baby. I was doing a fantastic job of self-torture and somehow Rick recognized it. He gently sat down next to me and pulled me to him. I heard the beating of his heart as I quietly cried, except it didn’t give me the typical calm I had felt before.

“Babe, come downstairs our kids need you. I need you.”

I shook my head and replied, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

He sighed, patted my leg lovingly and then he turned on the lamp next to our bed so I could see his face as he said the most profound thing, I had ever heard him say. His voice quivered with emotion, as he spoke softly. He could have yelled out of frustration and anger, yet he chose not to. His eyes said it all. His love was unconditional; he would wait for me however long it took to heal.

“Imagine when you die and go to Heaven. And God is up there waiting for you, and he says, “You are welcome here, Darlene. That baby’s birth wasn’t your fault. It was part of a bigger plan...” to think you wasted your life hating yourself for no reason.”

Inside of me, something “clicked.” His words were like a soothing balm to my soul.

He got up to walk out of the room, but first he stopped at the door and turned to look at me with a sadness on his face, “I love you Dar. We’ll be here waiting for you.”

In that moment I realized he was right. Somehow, I had to snap out of it! I let myself have one last good cry. Then, I got up, dried my tears, and went down to join my family for Friday movie night. I decided from that point on, I would show up for those who loved me the most, no matter how hard it was.

Those simple words, uttered from my simple man saved me from myself once again.