Forgiveness

In the fall of 1990 I was still struggling with postpartum depression. A new school year had begun, which meant I was back to working on a full time basis. That alone was making life hard. Trying to get up early, drag both my kids out of bed to get them to the sitter and myself to the school before 7:30 was tough.


Due to financial duress, we’d sold our second car. All kinds of new transportation issues complicated our lives. My husband was working to finish all of his pre-med courses. The big hope was that the next fall we’d be off to medical school. We both knew that was going to be a huge challenge, especially since we already had two kids, but my husband had always talked of how he wanted to be a doctor. I truly wanted him to have an occupation which would make him happy, so I figured it was worth the sacrifice.

All the same, I was constantly racked with guilt, feeling like I was failing my kids. How could I be leaving them to be raised by practical strangers? My beautiful daughter had nearly died because of me, because my mind had turned to mush. Others had to care for her. That was how she had caught the pneumonia. More than seven months had passed since that incident, yet it continued to torment me. Even though my job was an unquestionable necessity, it did not make things any easier for me mentally, especially regarding that subject.

Then, one Sunday while we were at church I was standing outside the classroom during Sunday School trying to keep my daughter under control. She was tired, yet excited and curious to be around so many people. Patiently I held her in my arms, rocking her until finally she succumbed to her need for sleep.

All was still and quiet. It felt so wonderful to be there, comforting my child, knowing I was the one who was there for her, not someone else. Suddenly a tremendous wave of guilt hit me. How could I have not been there for her so much of the time? Tears were welling in my eyes. I hated myself so much for being so weak, so inadequate, I literally felt like the pain alone should have been enough to kill me.

Then, the strangest, most wonderful thing happened. It was as if my daughter had sensed my thoughts. Her very soul began whispering to me, telling me of her love for me, how she was so happy to be my child. I was literally overwhelmed by the sudden sense of love and total, unquestionable forgiveness I felt, from an infant. How could a child so small even know how to communicate such articulate emotions? Yet, I knew without a doubt, it was her speaking to me. Somehow she knew.

For a long time I sat there, holding my little one, being blessed with a kind of peace I had not felt in a very long time.

To be honest, I haven’t written about this before. It always seemed too fantastic, too impossible to believe. Some experiences are so deeply intertwined with your very soul, you know without a doubt how true they really are while at the same time can understand how very strangely impossible it may be to someone else.

For myself, I know. My daughter spoke to me that day. She wholeheartedly forgave me. She loved me without reserve. For a brief moment, we were one. I have no doubt it was a gift from God, one which has comforted me often.