Are there places in your life that hold a bad memory.  The mere sight of the location triggers an emotional response.  Painful experiences from the past can do that. One such memory for me has since become a treasured remembrance.  Well, that may be a bit of an overstatement.  But, at the very least, it’s a pain wrapped in a loving embrace.  

Here’s the story.

There is a room at Rockdale Medical Center (RMC) in Conyers, Georgia, that has too many memories for me to handle.  If I am honest, I hate this room.  Well, maybe I should say I hated it—past tense.

Why would a simple hospital room prompt such an emotional response from me?

In July 2009, my mother was admitted to RMC Room 322 for what we thought would be a few days of observation.  After three long weeks, her condition deteriorated, and she was transferred to a hospice facility, where she passed away.  I still remember standing outside of Room 322 with my two brothers and making the end-of-life decision for our mom. Given her condition, it may have been an obvious decision, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Yes, Room 322 has some painful memories.

But wait, there’s more

Seventeen months later, in November 2010, my wife (Tootie) was admitted to RMC for treatment of migraines.  She was in the midst of a battle with cancer.  The previous month she underwent surgery for a double mastectomy.  And now, migraines, so bad, she had to be hospitalized, yet again.  Her room?  #322.  I thought to myself, “You have got to be kidding me.  Is this some kind of cruel joke?”  Of the 138 rooms in this hospital, my wife was admitted to the same one my mother had stayed in for 3 weeks.  Asking for a different room was out of the question; the hospital was full.  I recall taking a deep breath, thinking — I hate this room.

Tests would later confirm the cause of her migraines to be cancer in her spinal fluid.

Oh yes, I really hated this room.

Then, one of my daughters offered a different perspective.  This room is where we came together as a family.  We cried, we prayed, we loved.  It was a place of suffering that became a place of love and compassion.   It connected my mom and my wife over time.  This was our room, our place to serve the ones we love.  It was a place to remember not the suffering but the loving.

In the midst of grief, it is easy to channel negative emotions like anger toward a place, a person, or a condition. My daughter’s insight was a balm to my hurting soul. I had a choice to make. Room 322 at RMC could trigger a truckload of bad memories or a memory book of positive ones. It could be, should be, and would be a place to remember the loving.

My wife would pass away three months later.  I’m not sure anyone who has not experienced this kind of grief can make any sense of this reflection. Some may think it’s a vain attempt to deal with loss, pain, and suffering.

I have since realized that grief is normal and should not be ignored.  But I have also realized that such moments possess an opportunity for transcendent grace. 

Maybe Room 322 wasn’t such a bad place after all.