It was April and the Minister was new in town. I stopped by the
house with the For Sale sign on the ground and knocked on the
door with a casserole, loaf of bread and chocolate cake in
hand. It was a quick hello and casual conversation that first
meeting. As I stood on their back porch surrounded by unopened
boxes and unfamiliar eyes staring at me, I told my story to our
new Minister, his wife and their parents, about how my husband
and I came to have our 2 year old twins. As I look back on it
now, I don't know why I divulged this part of my life so openly,
but I was later to learn that it served a purpose for more than
the people in the room that Spring day. They politely listened
to me ramble on; I, the proud mother, who still couldn't believe
I had been so blessed. A son and a daughter came to complete my
world. Really, the only way I could introduce myself was to
share my newfound identity: Mom. They said their thank yous and
I said good-bye.
When Spring arrived, I took special pleasure in planning our
families Mother's Day celebration. It was no longer a dreaded
holiday for me and I anxiously awaited the impending fuss to be
made around those of us with the title Mom, now that I, too, was
a member of the club. And one sunny day he called. The Minister
asked if I would be willing to say a prayer at church on
Mother's Day. He and his wife did not have children, and I
imagined that this was a day he did not feel qualified on which
to speak. But after our recent introduction, he knew that I was
well entrenched in the joys of motherhood. Without hesitation,
I assured him that I would come prepared to church the following
Sunday.
The words came to the pages easily; the final version amounted
to four minutes of spoken text. Had I overstepped my time
limit? "There is no timeframe in which to pray" said the new
Minister. And so I spoke these words, that Mother's Day Sunday,
as I was compelled to bare my soul in His House and give thanks
for my many blessings.
I was first introduced to motherhood when I married Bob and his
six-year-old daughter, Jane*. Having Jane in my life was an
added bonus to finding the best guy in the world. She had her
daddy's happy disposition and she gave me the opportunity to be
a mom - something I had been told I might never be due to
medical problems I had suffered with for many years.
As we watched Jane grow, I got to practice being a mom with her
every other weekend. I enjoyed putting her hair in curlers,
painting her nails and making her Halloween costume every other
year. I nursed her through the chickenpox and held her in my
arms when she cried from a sore knee or a sad heart. I bought
her party dresses for her school concerts and helped her and her
girlfriend "cook" quiche for dinner one night. Bob and I took
her skiing, skating and sledding and included her in our daily
routine, rarely getting a babysitter who would only cheat us out
of more time with her. Over the years, I had the privilege of
watching what kind of dad my husband was and would be to our
children. The love he has for his daughter and the loving
relationship I watched between them made me want a child that
much more. Then the weekends would end and Jane would go back
to her mom for another long two weeks. And we would try again.
You see, four months after I met Bob, I had one of four major
surgeries that would lead us down the path of infertility
treatments for the six and one half years following our
marriage. The surgeries were painful, the side effects to the
medications were very difficult and the emotional toll on our
marriage was high. But we very much wanted to have children
together. And eventually we did. But it was not giving birth to
my children that made me a mom. It was the lessons I learned
along the way.
During our struggle to conceive, I became virtually incapable of
seeing much else beside my desire to have a baby. I lost sight
of my purpose in the world, my responsibility to my relationship
with my husband and those around me. I let go of everything in
my life that held promise because I wanted a baby. The biggest
struggles were when Bob and I disagreed on whether to pursue
another painful infertility treatment - I always wanted to - he
did not.
At the end of six and one half years of anguish, I decided it
was time to face the fact that I was not going to have a baby.
But to come to terms with ending our infertility treatments, I
had to acknowledge the selfishness with which I had behaved. I
realized that I could lose my husband in my pursuit to be a mom,
and although I could feel the souls of my children close to
mine, it was time to let go. Let go of the fear of never being
a mom; let go of the pain of trying, and start forgiving myself
for not being perfect. It was all over and it was now time to
come to terms with the life I had left to live.
First, I had to redefine what our family was going to be.
Simply, family is the people we bring into our life to love and
who love us in return. Biological, step, adopted - the prefix
no longer mattered.
Secondly, I had to determine my value as a woman. I had to
learn to see myself as a person with the ability to nurture (not
just a baby who might come from my body), but the people already
in my life who needed me. Mothering is an attitude not a
biological event.
Finally, what was I to do with the rest of my life? It became
crystal clear that life was about giving love, not getting what
I wanted, no matter how noble I thought the pursuit.
Soon after I shared these revelations with my husband, he
returned to me with a request - he wanted us to undergo one more
invitro fertilization. I was stunned. Yet it was at this
moment exactly that I knew God was showing me how sacrificing my
desires and giving love from the most sincere part of ones soul,
comes right back to you - as my husband had to me. So, of
course, I obliged. The results of that procedure are our son,
Robert Joseph, and our daughter, Lauren Ann.
Looking back on my life experience to this point, I am convinced
that my children were up in heaven looking down at me all those
years just waiting for me to figure out the most basic concepts
of love, which had become clouded by my quest to have
children. Ironically, these were the same characteristics of
selflessness, patience and priority I would require in my role
as a mom.
But the story is bittersweet. We baptized the children and my
stepdaughter, Jane, got up and left the church and we have not
seen her since. Our hearts ache for her. As much love as we
feel for Lauren Ann and Robert, they do not replace her. She is
a teenage victim of divorce struggling with her own feelings
about her place in the lives of the people who love her. We are
left feeling that all the love we have given her to this point
is not enough. Again another struggle. Only this time around I
understand there is a purpose to this pain. Another venue for
our love...a lesson to learn.
So on this Mothers Day, my prayers are for...
- The women who are trying to have a baby and may or may not
reach that goal
- The women, who by choice do not have children, yet enrich our
world in myriad ways
- The women who selflessly place their children for adoption, and
- The women who adopt them
- The stepmoms who have committed themselves to someone else's
children heart and soul, and
- The moms whose children are all grown up, but are never really
done being "mom"
My prayers are for all of us who mother to learn the lessons of
love along the way.
I remember that Mother's Day vividly. Having taken the
opportunity to articulate one part of my own journey, I
inadvertently touched other people's lives. I still recall the
arms that enveloped me after service that Sunday. Many
parishioners divulged to me their struggles with infertility or
similar pains their friends and family members had experienced.
My heart ached for their pain, and I could not help but feel
bonded to these people I did not really know.
This journey I had taken to become a mom, was a road I thought I
had traveled alone. As life unfolds before me and my
understanding of the world comes into focus, it is clear to me
now, there are no roads we walk alone; only choices that bring
us closer to each other.
*Not her real name
(c) Lisa Lelio All Rights Reserved
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