"Help me to be happy"

"It's easy enough to smile when life goes along with a song....but the one who's worth while is the one who can smile when everything goes dead wrong."
This quote used to be an all time favorite quote of mine. I thought its poetic words touched the very essence of truth. I venture to reason that I grasped such a theory was because, up until recently, I seemed to have an uncanny way of wading through the trials of life with a smile on my face (or at least I felt that I was deep down able to smile during those times).
Well, I have chopped that saying out of my “favorite” quotes pile. I have axed its truth from my life because it has labeled me as a worthless individual. If its words are truth than I am a not “worthwhile.” That may be true, but the more I ponder the quote I come to realize there are some moments in one’s life where one should not, nor could not, smile. I would venture to say that if one did smile during certain moments it could and would be most offensive.
Now I am not saying that I am in a predicament, nor that my life is full of woes (at least right now—)…..I have just realized over the past 5 years of my life that, at least for me, when life hands you lemons…making lemonade isn’t always the correct or most plausible option. Sometimes puckered mouths occur, a sour face emerges, repulsion, the desire to spit out ….happens. Does this make me a “worthless” person because I see a “lemon” as a “lemon” instead of a beautiful sweet Clementine or potential lemonade? Maybe, but the Pollyanna syndrome that I tried to uphold for so long ended up strangling me and caused me to stagger in my own progression. It was when I heard a mother tell their child the words to say while praying that my life truly grasped the correct response; “Help me to be happy.” Jackson’s mimicking of Ilene’s simple, yet oh so profound sentence, “help me to be happy,” rang through every piece of my soul. “Help me be happy”….not help me “smile” through all situations but rather help me to BE happy or find happiness again.
Oh, I lack the ability to express what it is I am really wanting to say…..Maybe an example would help…..please forgive me for sharing such an intimate and intense experience but I think it hits the “nail on the head” better than I am in succeeding at grasping the English language in hopes to convey my sentiments.
For those of you who don’t know, I was married in the year 2002. I was 28 years old and within the community in which I dwelt this was considered “middle age.” My chances to raise my children at a “normal age” were viewed as almost out the window (I can’t even imagine what the thought is now) and since my whole life I dreamed, desired and thought about having my own children (shoot, I even centered my career around being able to touch, inspire and teach children)......waiting too long to have children was not even an option .
Thus, a few months after marriage my ex and I decided to have a child. How funny to look back and think how naive I was….. deciding we would have a child NOW. Well, months passed, doctor visits occurred. Years passed, we learned nothing could be found that would indicate why 2 years had past and we were still not able to become pregnant. Temperatures, pee sticks, saliva swabs, graphs, etc. started to plague my life. A move to Michigan, which put us in contact with the “best of the best” fertility doctor in the nation, confirmed that nothing was “wrong” with either one of us (the medical profession puts things so quaintly sometimes). I definitely wasn’t smiling too big at this point in my life.
Well, in the process of being “tested” I became pregnant---a miracle in itself since it was only my second visit to the office and we were just doing blood work. I was not only shocked (since I had taken a pregnancy test a few days before and it came out negative) but that after 3 ½ years of prayer, faith and trying the actual reality of hearing the words “you are pregnant” wasn’t even a conscience thought (obviously I had lost my Pollyanna syndrome in regards to this subject).
After phoning my ex, and leaving him in utter shock, I found a hope start to bubble up inside of me, a "smile" if you will (in this aspect of my life) returned. My dream of becoming a mother, counting little fingers and toes, teaching about life, putting them to bed as I hum a lullaby were so very real (you would understand perfectly why I wrote hum if you have ever heard me sing out loud!!!). I was very humbled (those of you who have ever been pregnant I am sure can understand why I chose the word “humbled.”).
Well, times passed, ultrasounds were given, pictures were placed on my blog, a baby crib was bought, clothes were purchased, the cradle was assembled, doctor visits continued, daily internet calendars on the development of the fetus were read, books were purchased, during difficult times of my marriage…hope lingered…..then I woke up spotting. I immediately asked my ex for a blessing. I was panicked; I knew but refused to know. I was not given comfort. I laid on my bed and sobbed. My ex became extremely angry with me. He asked me why I had to be so “damn pessimistic!” Was I?????? I wasn’t…..At least I didn’t think so. I didn’t know why I had even thought the thoughts that I did…..maybe it was truth hitting before my mind could grasp the reality of it. We quickly called his sister, who is a deliver nurse. She asked lots of questions and told me to take it easy. The spotting continued. Phone calls to the local hospital occurred (it was a Saturday). We went to a ward picnic and I stayed in a chair. On the way home I wasn’t feeling well. When I returned home my spotting seemed to have worsened. I called my ex’s sister again. She told me to get to the hospital, despite what the doctor’s at the hospital had said over the phone.
I will never forget walking into that emergency facility. We had been there before so it felt quite familiar. They asked me to undress, put on a robe and then lay down on a stretch in a curtained area (there were no rooms just stretchers lined up against walls with curtains in between them). The first nurse to assist me came in happily and asked me many questions. She then put me on an IV and left. When she finally returned she had a machine with her to find the heartbeat of the fetus and to "see" what was going on. The quick pulsing sound we had already heard about 2 ½ months prior didn’t blare from the machine. She was getting frustrated and my prayers were getting more and more elementary (please, please please….I believe were about all that I could mustard in my brain). I definitely wasn’t smiling!!! Then the nurse said the machine she was using was very hard to work (about 20 minutes had passed and nothing) and she would go get another one. The doctor on call finally entered after the second machine was obtained and pushed the nice nurse aside and continued the process of trying to find the heartbeat. She gave up and left the area. My hopes seemed to be deflating a bit and my mind started to go numb.
The doctor returned and informed me that I was to have a vaginal ultrasound. She explained that the emergency room we were in was only a “satellite” facility and that gynecology services were “called” out. She had just finished talking with the gynecologist at the “big dog” hospital and that an vaginal ultrasound was required.
Hours passed. The hospitals was packed. Each stretcher had a patient to uphold. One older group of individuals were chatting loudly while waiting for some sort of cancer results for the patient they were there supporting that occupying a stretcher close by. I remember a child's cry but not the reason behind it. Commotion seemed to be all around me except inside of me. I forced myself to be "positive" to have a "smile." I started to demand myself to plead all the more to my maker.....but all that would come out were weak "pleases" and a few sacred words that only I and my Father will know. I was exhausted. Time continued to pass very slowly.
Finally, I was placed in a wheelchair and wheeled to an open hall area outside a small office size room. After about 45 minutes of sitting, freezing, silent next to my now mute ex, I was called in to the exam room. The nurse asked me to lie down on the table. Then her friend came by and she stepped out to speak with her. She wasn’t tactful enough to shut the door so I was able to hear her friend asked her why she hadn’t left. Apparently, her shift was up that minute, her visiting family was waiting for her, and she was not too pleased to have to deal with me. She finally returned and proceeded to do the ultrasound. I looked at her face and saw no expression. I cranked my head and tried with all my might to see what was on the screen. I asked her questions but she said she could not answer them. I think that was almost a confirmation to me that the baby was gone…..I thought, if there was hope she would whisper something or give me some kind of encouraging something….wouldn’t she?
I wasn’t "smiling" but I couldn’t give up hope--I couldn't not have faith and hope! What was wrong with me I argued in my head! My pleading “pleases” increased….if that was even possible.
After returning to my “oh so private” curtained room and having hung up the phone with my ex’s sister (who didn’t really have anything to say after I walked her through everything that was said and done….except “just wait and see.”) the doctor returned. She stepped in and said the results were sent to the “all knowing doctor somewhere out there in space” and that he said there was no heartbeat, the baby was dead and that I was to go home and let things pass natural. I was dumbfounded. She then bluntly said that she was sorry and that I was free to go. I just stared. She then, without any emotion, turned around and left my curtain cubical.
I began to cry/sob/bawl….whatever it was that escaped from my lips…only to be hushed by my ex, who was standing at a distance from me, telling me to stop because others would hear. Life wasn’t going along like a song and I WASN’T smiling. A different nurse walked around the curtains and exclaimed, “Oh, you are still here. You can go.” I looked at her bewildered. My ex snapped at her that I still had an IV in my arm (he wasn’t smiling). That was quickly removed and I was sent walking out of the now foreign emergency room as if nothing happened.
When I returned home my ex dropped me off and told me he had to go get something. We both were not smiling. I was alone! The walls of my house were screaming at me. I plopped down on my bed and begin to sob…then I saw The Book of Mormon on my side table. I remembered that President Hinckley had just asked us to read it and promised peace….and some other things….but at the time peace was the only one I could remember. I picked up the book and sarcastically said out loud…..something to the extent of…..”well, let’s see if your promise works because I need help!”
Fortunately, God does talk through his mouthpieces on earth because the promise was/is real. It did work! The first scripture I read was a reminder that God was there and that everything would work out…..and then the peace that came over me for a brief moment was/is indescribable. It was so powerful that it left a numbing aura about me….. yet, I know I wasn’t “smiling” but that I was “worthwhile” in the eyes of my Father.
That night I woke to the worst cramping I have ever felt. I raced to the bathroom to find myself in labor. I found a child, still attached to me, facing me with all 10 fingers and 10 toes. I immediately started to scream, “It’s not fair!” over and over again. My ex entered and, seeing me the way he did (I think out of shear fear…he was never good with blood and such), became angry and started to yell “what the hell am I suppose to do!” I wasn’t smiling and neither was he….the peace was gone!
Luckily, we were able to get a hold of his sister, who after chastised me for being home in the first place (still not smiling), proceeded to walk me through the rest of the ordeal. I then returned to bed….the most alone, saddening, tired, deflated feeling I have ever felt crept over me. My dreams, hopes, future were crushed and yet I could not fall too far into the “depths of despair” (love Anne of Green Gables!) because I could remember the peace that came when reading the scriptures earlier on . The knowledge that God was there, that He knew me, He knew my hurt and hurt with me, that the child was His first and that His Will should (and would) be done haunted my hurt. I fought with myself…..not in these exact words but basically questioning….. ”where was my smile????” You know truth Winnie, you have felt the peace why aren’t you being “worthwhile” and “smiling.” Why, when I had such knowledge and peace, couldn’t the Pollyanna smile not kick in and drowned out the massive pain that filled every square inch of my body??? I was at odds with myself, and my spirit. I never felt anger, just deep sadness….the deepest of sadness. Anger came later, but only for a brief while. Which brings me to my point……was I not worthwhile? Am I not really “worthwhile” because I couldn't "SMILE" when everything went DEAD WRONG!!!
Of course not….at least I don’t think so! That is why I am now taking the quote out of my favorite file section of my brain…..oh, I will use it when it is in the right contents; I do think there is great wisdom in being optimistic during difficult times….but I have come to believe (for myself) that the one who’s really worthwhile is the one who is able, not only to get down on their knees and say, “help me!” but, when ready, get down on their knees and then ask, “help me to be happy” (or "help me to feel happiness again").
Thanks Jackson! The words of a little boy who, while mimicking his mom, has taught me such a profound truth. My life, hopefully, will never be the same! Worthwhile with or without a smile…..but always asking, “Help me to BE happy!”