I Will Not Forget You

My early life experiences have left me with fear of abandonment.  My father left. Because my mother had to work so hard to provide for us, my childish heart felt like she left too. The "ex" left me with two children when I was 22.  And although my husband is ever faithful, I sometimes dream he leaves.  Last night was one of those nights.  Crying myself awake, I had to reassess where I was and make sure he was there beside me. When I told him of my dream he said, "Someday you won't have those dreams anymore."

Over 10 years ago I wrote a short story.  It told of my Fathers commitment to me. I would like to share it with you today.

"Though a nursing mother forget her child yet I will not forget you." (Jesus)
While getting my Bachelors in Nursing I took a class called Community Health.  It involved serving people in their homes.  This was incredibly difficult for me.  My work in ICU prepared me for all kinds of emergencies.  I felt comfortable, knew my role, the equipment and excelled in hospital work. I told my instructor, "Give me a pair of gloves, an ambu-bag and a patient in cardiac arrest and I can function, but going into peoples homes is too dangerous." She was a woman who had spent time as a missionary nurse and she chuckled when I complained that I felt naked without my hospital equipment. After encouraging me and telling me that this new experience would help me grow she sent me out into the field with just my stethoscope. I felt like a soldier stripped of all his battle gear and sent out to conquer a Philistine giant with only a sling.
During that course, one client was a 21-year-old post-partum mother of two.  She had her first child at the age of 16, and was a crack addict.  She lived in Cleghorn, the worst part of a not so great city in Massachusetts.  Her 5-year-old had previously been suspended from the school bus for his behavior.  The newborn was underweight and suspected to be addicted to crack as well.  
My job was to assess the baby and mother.  I had to make sure they were both recovering after their discharge from the hospital.  I was to look for signs of maternal neglect or failure to thrive in the child. I knocked on the door on my first visit and the young woman answered.  She had obviously been sleeping, I was sorry I had woken her up.  Her five year old was home watching TV, he had missed the bus so he was not in school that day.  The baby was small and did not fuss much as I assessed him.  His mother denied any concerns or problems.  It was a short interview.  
As the month went by the mother became used to my weekly visits.  I thought she was doing well until one Monday morning I came to the door and found it ajar.  I walked inside and the house was a huge mess.  There were half-eaten sandwiches on the counter, the TV was on, clothing was all over the floor, but nobody was home.  I went back outside to my car and saw the five year old playing.  I went over to him and asked him where his mother was.  He answered that she had gone out and had not come back home yet.  I assumed that she had left that morning on errands.  Then the boy volunteered to show me where she left the baby, so I could "check him out" if I wanted to.  
He took me across the street to another tenement house.  On the second floor, he knocked on a door, and told me that this was where his mother had left the baby.  A girl answered.  She held a baby of her own in her arms.  I explained who I was and she said, "Good, come take the baby.  His mother left him here on Thursday with just one bottle of milk.  I have had to give him some of my baby’s formula, but I can’t anymore because then my baby won’t have anything to eat."  I looked at the 5-week-old infant and he was obviously dehydrated. He was dirty and his diaper had not been changed in a long time.  The baby sitter explained that the mother had gotten her check on Thursday and gone uptown, probably to get some drugs and had not come back yet.
I knew what I wanted to do.  I wanted to take that baby home, feed him, wash him and sooth him, but I could not.  Instead, I used the babysitter’s phone and called my instructor.  She advised me to wait for her there.   When she arrived, she had called DSS and reported the incident.  She also brought some formula and diapers.  We fed the baby, changed him and waited for the State Child Workers to arrive. The baby and five-year-old spent two days in protective care. When the mother returned home, she went looking for them.  When asked why she had not returned to her children, she defensively stated, "I just forgot!"
Through the years, I have often remembered that mother and wondered how she could forget her children.  As a mother of four, I have once or twice been so rushed that I have walked out to the car assuming all of the children were already in it and taken off to do errands.  All the while one slow unsuspecting child remained at home.  Nevertheless, it takes less than a couple of blocks to realize the child is missing and I quickly turn around and retrieve him.  
In my mind, that mother’s forgetfulness is contrasted with Christ’s preoccupation with me. Exodus 28:29 says, “And Aaron shall bear the names of the children of Israel in the breastplate of judgment upon his heart, when he goeth in unto the holy place for a memorial before the Lord continually.” Jesus, my High Priest, has my name on His heart continually.  He never forgets me! He never leaves me and always has me on His mind. “Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.”