The Art Of Forgiveness

I was not prepared for that. “Miss Franklin, you can go back now.” I had been waiting in the emergency room for well over 25 minutes. Each time I got up; 5 minute intervals, asking the lady at the desk if my uncle had arrived yet. I had even gone to the window and looked to see if I could see the life flight helicopter land. Nothing. Each time I went to the desk I was told that he was not there. I was given a puzzled look (always with a smile and courteous response) as though I was unsure of where he was coming from or if he was even supposed to be there. Then now she says I can go back. I smiled and thanked her. She smiled and said finally, right.  In my mind I had rehearsed what I was going to say to my uncle. He joked a lot; he was quite the comedian after all. I was going to tell him, you really wanted some attention this time. You just had to pull this kind of stunt, huh? Or how I was going to play the pharmacy technician role and talk about the importance of taking his medication. However, when I reached triage room 3. I stopped. Time stopped. I don’t think anyone ever knew what I went through in those moments. Writing is my way of retelling, releasing and healing.

There he was laying there. Tubes, equipment, nurses scrambling, the heart shockers. A doctor looked up, shock filled his face. The nurses just looked at me, mouthed I’m sorry and looked away. He asked, “What are you doing back here?” My response was, “I’m his niece, and she told me it was ok. Is he ok?” The doctor put his arms around me and guided me out of the room. I looked back and said his name, “Tony.” No response. I was taken to a small waiting room and told to wait. The doctor said he’d be right back. I had seen a body before. I knew. I began to talk myself out of it. Where were my other family members that were on the way? The door knob turned and in walked the doctor. He introduced himself and asked if I was alone. “He said I’m sorry. We tried everything. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you had to see that.” He hugged me as I cried. I asked what happened. He told me details. He asked if I needed him to stay with me until someone came. I told him I would be ok.

I needed to sort things out inside. Process. Debrief with my heart. How was I going to tell my uncle who was almost there that his brother was gone. How was I going to tell my mother, my aunts? Oh lord, did I have to tell my grandmother? Everything stopped. My other uncle arrived, he walked in I could only shake my head and cry. It wasn’t fair. I woke up that morning with an odd felling. I went to work. Everything was going smoothly. This was not real. The doctor came back in again. He as kind and his word were full of empathy. I remember the pain I felt but I also remember his kindness, genuineness and gentleness. He has genuinely upset that I had been allowed to come back without being told what to expect. For so long after that I held anger. A slight resentment for the lady behind the desk. How could she have been so careless? How could she not know?  Part of me wanted to leave the little room and have words with her but for what? Why? It would solve anything.

Even though she sent word that she was sorry. She didn’t know. I was in shock. I was angry. I had to forgive. Even though I would probably never see her again I had to forgive. I needed to. She wasn’t the issue. I thought about the kindness of the doctor and how I wasn’t angry at him. I had to consider the kindness of the lady behind the desk also. She was patient with me, with all of that going on around her. She even checked before I could get up and come to her desk. She even told me that if I needed to step out and make calls that she would send someone out to come get me as soon as my uncle had arrived. She tried. I had to forgive. I had forgiven so many times before for intentional things. This was unintentional. Despite the circumstance or situation it was too much to hold onto. Too much to keep me bound. I wanted that peace and I received it. No charge... FREE.