The Saving Power of Three Words

In the grimy Grand Central Station public bathroom stall, Janice clutched the straps of her oversized denim bag. The acrid aftertaste of throwing up coated the roof of her mouth. Sweat beaded on her nineteen year old forehead. Tears threatened, but she was past the point of crying. She squeezed her eyes closed. This had to be done.

She couldn’t tell her family in North Carolina. The condemnation, the shame, and the embarrassment were suffocating. What a fool she’d been for thinking she was someone special to a thirty-year-old man who had already moved on to the next woman.

Lies and guilt and hopelessness surrounded her, while the steady sounds of life as usual bombarded her ears. The screech of subway trains and mechanical voices announcing the latest arrivals and departures entered the bathroom with each visitor. Stall doors slammed shut. Heels clicked with business-like purpose. Sneakers squeaked on the gritty tile floors. They were women with jobs to get to, shopping to do, a date to meet, unaware of her life. Unaware of the life she was about to end.

She sat, fully clothed, on the toilet seat rocking herself to the off-rhythm noises. The sounds were muffled only by the voices in her head that accused her without mercy. Opening her bag, she grasped the cool, curved metal of the coat hanger. Women did this all the time, her friend had explained, to keep a baby from ruining their lives.

Her head pounded. She clasped her hands to her temples to stop the tremors. The sour taste almost made her want to throw up again. Water. She needed water, then . . . she would do this. Leaving the stall, she made her way to the row of porcelain sinks. Cool water rushed over her palms and around her wrists. She scooped a little into her cupped hands for a drink, then splashed her face. When she looked up, she noticed a pair of eyes resting on her. While others checked their reflections, fixed their makeup, and hurried to wash their hands, one woman focused on her. This stranger said three little words: Are you okay?

No, she wasn’t okay. The hurt spilled from her soul as she confided in this kind-eyed woman who had taken a moment to care. The minutes blurred together with subway hubbub and long-repressed tears. Before they parted, Janice pulled the hanger from her bag and threw it into the trash.

 I’ve imagined some of the details, but I know this story is true because I heard it from Edwina Perkins—Janice’s daughter. As we shared lunch, she told me about being raised by her loving grandparents. Her mother couldn’t take on the lifelong responsibility of motherhood, but she did find the courage to not end the life inside her. Janice called her parents for help because one woman made a choice to speak to an exhausted, broken girl in a public restroom.

You don’t need masterful speaking skills or a counseling degree. Three words…four syllables…are enough.  Have you ever seen a distraught human being and thought about asking if they were okay? I have. Have you looked away, unwilling (for whatever reason) to show your concern? I have. I pray that this lesson I learned from Edwina’s story will forever keep me from ignoring the heartache around me.

That compassionate lady in the subway didn’t realize she was saving a life when she asked her question. When she did realize what was at stake, she had no way of knowing what a beautiful, talented woman Edwina would become. That was something even Janice couldn’t know at the time.

Then there’s this: there was something else that neither of them knew. Edwina wasn’t the only life saved that day…so was Edwin, her twin brother.

Three little words.

If you want to know more about Edwina and how God continues to use her, use this link — https://writingforyourlife.com/edwina-perkins/