I hid in the wardrobe and listened to their worried voices calling my name.
“Heather? Heather! Where are you?! Where IS she?”
I’d never climbed in there before. This was a one-off. I remember drawing my knees up under my chin, feeling the clothes against my face and drawing the solid sliding door closed to within an inch or so – the most shut I could make it while curling my 10 year old fingers around the edge from the inside.
I had done something I was intently ashamed of. I had caused extreme pain to a number of people. At the core, I’d hurt a baby. Concentrically in turn, the baby’s parents. And next I was sure, my own parents.
I wanted the wardrobe to swallow me. Remove me from the planet. Blot me out. Obliterate my shame. Separate me from the sounds of the pain I caused.
It must have been my sister who came into our darkened bedroom and saw enough of my face through the crack in the door. I remember shaking my head and mouthing “don’t tell anyone” with a sense that if she told… if I had to come out of that dark hidden place… the world might crash down on me and my shame… my shame… I wasn’t afraid of punishment. I hadn’t thought ahead to what responsibility might mean… I was just so horrified at the pain I caused.
What had happened?
My folks were babysitting a neighbours crawling aged baby. When the parents returned in the evening, they squatted onto the floor with arms outstretched for the baby to crawl to them. He squealed in delight and did exactly that. I’d been doing some embroidery and had left the needle in my piece of cloth on the floor.
And he crawled right onto it. I was so ashamed I left it on the floor. I was so ashamed I watched him crawl toward it without considering the needle and the harm it could cause. I was so ashamed I didn’t snatch it away in time.
I remember his scream as the needle went into his knee. I remember the sounds of panic and confusion in the room at not knowing the cause of his scream for a moment or two. I remember the horror in his parents’ faces as we all realised at once the needle was fully sunken into his knee and could not be withdrawn immediately.
In the flurry and the noise to get the little one to a doctor after hours, I disappeared into the wardrobe blanketed in my own horror.
I didn’t know why.
I just did it.
I remember my parents relief when I was found. I don’t think my sister gave me up immediately, but I think the weight of knowing got to her and she must have turned me in. I mean really – I couldn’t stay there forever.
I do not remember any cross words or recriminations. I doubt there were any.
A phone call came late that night to say baby was fine. The needle was out. There would be no permanent damage. Oh the relief. But still the great engulfing shame.
The next day, the family came by to see me. They’d heard about the wardrobe and came to clear my shame. They hugged me and I cried. They told me everything was alright now and I shouldn’t feel sad anymore. They were my first deep experience of forgiveness.
The baby wouldn’t hold a grudge. He wouldn’t even remember. The parents would remember, but they never remembered it against me. And my folks, who I felt so sure would be ashamed of me… had told my wardrobe story and helped facilitate me being free from it.
No it hadn’t been purposeful.
No there had been no malice.
I loved that child. And his mum in particular.
And I loved them even more from that day forward.
When someone releases you from under a boulder of regret, it tends to have that effect. Even after they moved, I’d walk to their house for chats and apple juice and happy times.
I’ve only considered this morning, how different my memory of that event would be had they NOT returned to tell me they were not angry with me. For one thing – I’d likely not be in a place where I’d be writing about it on Facebook. Forgiveness is transformative. Forgiveness releases from debt. Forgiveness is costly. Forgiveness absorbs but eventually releases the pain. Forgiveness says “Yes it happened. It mattered. It can’t be repaid. I am not going to punish you. I am not going to attempt to exact what cannot be achieved.” Forgiveness recognises. Forgiveness frees.
Intentional and unintentional acts need and can be forgiven.
Forgiveness can be extended without the asking.
Forgiveness can be received by a wordless grateful heart.
New things can begin.
I’ve never, never, never left a pin or needle on the floor again since.
I’ve never climbed in a physical wardrobe again since but I know the feeling that makes me take pause in an emotional one from time to time. But I’ve also known the relief of being pulled out of it… even unwillingly.
Are you in a wardrobe?
Is there someone you can help out of theirs?
Are you preferring they stay in there?
Is there a new beginning just waiting to happen when the door slides open… whose ever hand it is that slides it back?