"Now I have hate!"

 I don't know why, but lately I have been thinking of Natalie Wood's final scene in the 1961 version of West Side Story. 

Tony, her lover, has just died in Maria's arms.  She stands up, Chino -- the man who's just killed Tony -- hands her the gun. She wants to know, "How do you fire this gun. By pulling this little trigger?" Then, she points the gun towards the group of Jets, then the Sharks, and shouts (paraphrased), "You killed him. All of you. And my brother. And Riff. Not with guns and bullets. But with hate. Well, I can kill too. Because now I have hate!" 

Maria began West Side Story as an innocent young girl, experiencing her "love at first sight", planning to run away with him because he's in danger from killing Maria's brother and he knows the gang will be out for revenge. Somehow, she retains her innocence . . . until that final scene. 

You see the hardness fall on her face first, then hear it in her voice when she wants to know how do you fire this gun? Then you see her grief when she throws herself over Tony's body, screaming, "Don't you touch him!" 

She knows she has to let him go. So she whispers, "Te adoro, Anton."  Then remains kneeling on the concrete while the Jets and the Sharks -- now working together for the first time in their lives, probably -- pick up Tony's body and carry it away. 

A gang member then covers Maria's head with a shawl, a sign of mourning for a woman who has lost a husband.  In Maria's case, she has lost a lover. Then she, in her red dress, with her shawl-covered head, stands up stoically and follows the Jets and the Sharks offstage.

Maria did not, at that moment, give into her hate by firing the gun.

But I wonder how she handled her hate later.

Her line, "I can kill now, because I have hate!" has run through my mind for some reason. 

Don't the majority of murders happen because of hate? 

Doesn't it start with hate?

Hate of a particular person for an actual or perceived wrong?

Hate of a particular group because of a past history of wrongs done to them?  Or hate of a particular group because you feel threatened by them? 

And what other crimes start with hate? 

Come to think of it, what else starts with hate? Or cultivates hate? Believing, "I'm right, you're wrong, and if we don't agree, we can't be friends? And not only can we not be friends, we can't even talk to each other anymore?"

Do I, Tina, have hate? 

I would love to stand up and say, "No, I am not a hater. I don't hate people. I don't allow myself to be consumed with hate."

That wouldn't be true. 

I've hated people, hated groups of people, let hate eat me up and eat me alive. 

Sometimes hate can be good. Hating prejudice and bigotry, didn't that lead to the Civil Rights Movement? Didn't the hate of being mistreated lead to others having compassion because they didn't want to treat others the way they were treated? 

But too often, hate leads to a Tony, dead on a basketball court, and a Maria, first cold and angry, then grief-stricken. 

Did she carry her hate with her? Did she use her hate to promote non-violence? Did she use herself as an example of what gang violence can do to a person? 

Or did she let her hate eat her alive?

That's a good question for me.

Have I, am I, letting my own hate for whatever eat me alive? 

I don't like how we are being eaten alive by hate in this country these days. I don't like how political candidates attack one another so viciously. I don't like how other candidates take advantage of hatred of a particular group and stir it up just so they can gain votes. 

My question is, how do I not allow hate to eat me alive? 

Our pastor has been doing a series about the fruit of the Spirit. He's from a construction background, and not only does he use the term "fruit" to describe love, joy, peace, etc., he also uses the word "tools" to describe using "love, joy, peace," etc. 

I wonder if these "tools" are the way to not allow hate eat me alive. And these tools and fruit are "of the Spirit". I cannot fight hate by simply writing down a "to-do" list of "how not to hate", forcing myself to be nice to someone while gritting my teeth. 

No, I can only fight hate through reaching out for the power of the Spirit. And he is more than willing to give it. 

I do not want to be Maria, saying, "I can kill, too, because now I have hate!"

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Why I remember

 “No one ever remembers.” 

Those four words, posted on my wall on a now defunct social media site, broke my heart. 

The woman who posted them was replying to my acknowledgement of the anniversary of the stillbirth of one of her children. He was a twin; the other twin was miscarried earlier in the pregnancy. 

Today, October 15, is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. The entire month of October is dedicated to remembering these babies; these babies lost through miscarriage, lost through stillbirth, or lost through early death. 

I have never lost a baby. I don’t know that heartbreak. I know the heartbreak of trying to conceive and failing, of many doctor’s visits, and of finally conceiving and having a son. But not everyone has that happy ending. 

I do, however, know many who know the heartbreak of miscarriage, the heartbreak of stillbirth, the heartbreak of losing an infant to death. A friend just lost a longed-for child through miscarriage and had to have a D&E in order to remove the fetus. 

Two other friends lost their babies to cord accidents, where the umbilical cord strangled the baby in the womb.

Other friends have lost children to stillbirths or early death.  

By coincidence, National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day falls on the the day before my birthday. I was not meant to be born in October. Instead, I came early. Perhaps I could have been one of those statistics, a lost baby that my mother remembered. I was lucky. Not everyone is. 

My grandmother lost an infant daughter, Bobbie Lee, when the baby was three months old. She was “Bobbie Lee” because she was named after my grandmother’s father, Robert Lee Thompson. I have a copy of her death certificate, which lists her birthday as August 1st, 1935; and her death date as November 13, 1935.  Her cause of death was “gastroenteritis”. My grandparents lived in Harlan, Kentucky, a small, coal-mining town, and it was 1935. Had she been born today, I think the odds of her survival would have been much better. 

She never talked about Bobbie Lee much, except for at least one conversation with me and perhaps with a few others. In 1935 especially, I think the death of an infant was met with, “At least you have other children,” or, “You can have another one,” (as if one child could replace another.) And then you didn’t talk about it. 

There is a saying, “There is no footprint too small to leave an imprint on this world.” 

Today, so many remember those little footprints; those ones that were never born, those born sleeping, those who lived only a little while. 

I have a list of babies I remember this time of year. 

So:

For Ana C.

For Anna V.

For Bobbie Lee C.

For Caley A.

For Desmond M-S.

For Hope C.

For Hope K.

For Ian A.

For Sarah Grace W.

For William W. 

And for the many others I’m sure I’ve forgotten and the many others I do not know.

You lived in someone’s womb and you lived in many hearts.

And your little footprints left a mark on this world. 

“No one ever remembers.”

Someone should.

This is why I remember.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.