The parson sat in his favorite diner, partaking of three eggs over medium, three links of sausage, three slices of bacon, two large freshly baked biscuits, a goodly portion of grits, a scoop of apple sauce, with a reasonable portion of butter on the appropriate items. At the two o’clock position relative to his plate rested a large porcelain mug filled with steaming decaf, a quiet acknowledgement of his cardiologist’s ongoing efforts to keep the parson ticking. Another acknowledgement was the parson’s limiting of this cholesterol indulgence to one every three or four months.
It had been a quiet morning as the parson feasted upon his breakfast while reading the morning issue of the New York Times on the Kindle. Now, plate empty and taken away by Lois his server, the parson was sipping his fresh coffee of decaf while he read Peter Wallace’s terrific new book, Connected, You and God in the Psalms. He’d just turned to the entry on Psalm 15, called “Included,” when Leon Swartz interrupted his morning out.
“Hello, Parson,” said Leon as he helped himself to the chair across the table. “How are things going down at your church?”
The parson looked at the chapter title again. He’d rather not “include” Leon in his morning but here he was.
“Things are terrific, Leon. We continue to be above average. Last Sunday’s offering was fourteen dollars more than we needed for the budget. The attendance was off a bit, but everyone who didn’t come had a really good reason. What’s happening with you?”
“I’m busy as usual. Somebody has to stand up for the rights of the unborn. . . .”
The parson held up his hand in a “stop” gesture before Leon could go any further.
“I knew you’d find me sometime this week, Leon, to bring up the abortion issue. You’re upset about Obama and Notre Dame, aren’t you?”
“I certainly am,” said Leon. “And I thought it was a good time to talk with you about the issue.”
“Leon,” the parson said, putting his book aside, and leaning across the table, “for once I want you to listen to me and my thoughts on the issue.
“Some years ago, Leon, I got a phone call. My daughter had experienced a seizure. They rushed her to the hospital. As soon as the ambulance arrived they called me and I got there as fast as I could. I couldn’t talk to my daughter, Leon, because she’d gone into a coma. And nobody had a clue what was going on. She was four months pregnant, Leon, four months. The hospital Chief of Staff was a friend o mine so my daughter was getting some exceptional attention. Still no one knew what had caused the seizure or the coma. But it was clear she was deteriorating rapidly. It didn’t take much to realize what the wrinkled foreheads of the doctors and nurses and their averted eyes meant.
“The decision was made to transfer her by ambulance to another hospital where a prominent neurosurgeon could examine her. I remember following that ambulance that night, Leon, and praying over and over that she live. It was gut wrenching.
“At the new hospital she was given test after test after test. Still they couldn’t find a cause for the coma. I don’t know how long we’d been there, but my sons convinced me to take a break. I did. I found a comfortable chair in a waiting area and sat down. I must have dozed off. I remember my sons shaking me and saying they needed to talk to me. They told me, Leon, she had twelve to sixteen hours the way things were going. My daughter was four months pregnant and she was dying.
“At some point, Leon, that famous neurosurgeon came and sat down with my daughter’s husband and the rest of us. He admitted he still didn’t know the cause of her coma, but he said he wanted to try something, a treatment with some drug. He explained the risks to my daughter to us and quickly added it was the only thing he knew to try. And then he informed us the drug would kill the baby. He needed to know what my son-in-law wanted to do.
“I have no idea, Leon, how long it was. Everything was a blur. In the end, Leon, the doctor was right and the doctor was wrong. The drug did work. But the baby lived. She lived, Leon, despite all the medical people said, she lived. That’s why she was named ‘Faith.’”
The parson took a sip of his coffee and leaned further across the table. Leon remained silent.
“Now I want you to fully understand, Leon, that my son-in-law did what I was screaming inside myself for him to do when that doctor presented him with a choice. He chose life, Leon. He chose my daughter’s life. I want you to clearly understand that when it came to making the choice, it was my son-in-law’s choice, not yours. And the fact that Faith is the bubbly precious child she is today does not change the fact that the choice that was made was made.”
Leon started to say something, but the parson held up his hand again.
“At another time a few years back, Leon, I went to the hospital again. This time it was to be with my youngest son and his wife. Their baby, Leon, died in his mother’s womb. And she had to have labor induced to deliver a dead child. Can you imagine the agony of that? Can you comprehend how that ripped their guts apart?
“Some wonderful ladies who volunteer for the hospital where my son and his wife and their dead child were provide little clothing and knitted caps for these fetuses. I remember sitting in the grieving room with my son his agony flowed in torrents with his tears as he held that tiny, tiny baby in his hands. The child could be held in just his hand. Stillborn, but his son, his precious son.
“We wept and we wept that day, Leon. And, you know, Leon, I can’t tell you which day we wept the hardest, the day we wept over that stillborn child or the day we wept when my daughter emerged from her coma. But in both those times we were weeping over life.”
Again Leon started to speak, but the parson held up his hand.
“We buried that child Leon. We had a funeral service. There’s a place in Atlanta called Babyland. It’s a place where such children are buried. We had a full service from our Book of Worship, a service for a stillborn child. That service was conducted with all the dignity and the grief that would have been present at the death of any loved one. It was a recognition of the sanctity of life, Leon. I had to repeat that service two more times for that same son, Leon. Two more times we grieved the death of one unborn. I can tell you the names of all three, Leon. And I can tell you what is written on their grave stone. All three of those unborn lives were sacred.
“But I want you to clearly realize that the decision to chose my daughter’s life over that of the child in her womb was also a choice that recognized the sanctity of life.
“Now, Leon, I’ve told you this personal story, because I want you to understand why I’m not very patient with you coming on so strong in your views over this issue. You’re not qualified to talk about it, Leon. You’re not qualified because I know you have never sat in a grieving room with a tiny fetus in your hand that is your dead son. And you have never sat in a hospital with a doctor saying choose one, your child or your wife.
“I pray to God, Leon, that you never become qualified on this issue. I pray that for you, Leon, because I know what it is like to have been face-to-face with the sacredness of life, the sacredness of the life of the unborn and the born. And knowing what it is like, Leon, I can tell you with all the fiber of my being that this issue is not so simple it can be quantified.
“Leon, when you try to simplify the agony of those moments by thinking you can make these decisions for me, you have minimized the sacredness of my life and the sacredness of the decision that is made by the person standing at the threshold of life and death. So, be quiet, Leon, be quiet. This is my choice. This is my pain. This is my joy.”
Thank you for sharing your pain... and thank you for asking... nicely... for the Leon's of the world... to just be quiet. I just did a funeral service for a 9 ounce baby boy... and am now working with the couple... who are scared to death as they consider getting pregnant again. You so get it... and I'm so thankful you share it with us.
Posted by: Beach Walkin | May 20, 2009 at 03:31 PM
Been there-- at least to one of those places. And as I mourned the loss of the life I had carried, I knew for sure that life is life and is precious and is painful, and is no one's ability to legislate, decide, or quantify. The Leons of the world tell me this should make me pro-life, and I tell them i am, just not the way they think of it.
Thank you for your thoughts and your shared grief. Most of all, thank you for the request for silence.
Becca
Posted by: Becca Clark | May 21, 2009 at 04:08 AM
Dear Parson,
Just read this entry, the words "thank you" are not adequate. As I read, a memory flooded back amid the tear-filled eyes for me. 38 years and a couples of months ago, I and my wife, who was 4 months pregnant, stood with another couple, our age and not active in the church, to bury their stillborn daughter. The years have erased their names from my memory but not the name of their daughter, Heather Michelle. Only God knows the last name. Thank you for your witness. Peace, Curtis
Posted by: CurtisGrissett | May 21, 2009 at 10:18 AM
Thank you.
Posted by: Linda | May 21, 2009 at 12:34 PM