Thank your mother.

It’s nearing the second Sunday in May, also known as Mother’s Day.  And here is yet another reflection on a blog telling you yet another person’s take on this unfortunately controversial day that is a source of pain for many.

Celebrating Mother’s Day may be easy and fun for you. Great! You are fortunate.  This post is probably not for you, but you might learn something from it.

Celebrating Mother’s Day may be difficult and painful for you. To say it is a hard day may be an understatement. You may not want to do it at all because it brings up all the struggles in your life, but I hope you do it anyway.  Not in a “Hallmark, spend lots of money and get balloons” type of way, but in a “observe, reflect, and simply thank your mom” type of way.

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I have felt very sad and yes, even jealous readings reflections about how a particular blogger (although there are many!) was “so proud” to be standing at church and recognized on her first mother’s day.  I remember desperately wanting to have God fulfill this desire for motherhood that I was struggling with being unfulfilled.  I was desperate for the day when I could stand, not to be “in the club” or get attention, but because that would mean I had a child that I was mothering!  And that would mean God had permitted my motherhood.

However, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so pitied and marginalized as a sub-fertile as when I read reflections about how we should just get rid of Mother’s Day as a whole.  Of course the writers mean well, but it really feels like the ultimate pity party, like “If I can’t have fun, then no one should be able to!”

Its not a perfect analogy, but to me this is akin to the idea that we should just stop admiring doctors because not everyone can go to medical school and get the degree to properly diagnose or treat people.  Or stop honoring firefighters because not everyone can maintain the appropriate physical requirements necessary to do the job.  Or stop having weddings because some people can’t find a partner or others are called to the priesthood.  Or stop with the birthdays because some all people pass away.

We should just not have any celebrations if not every person can be a part of all of them.

As a society we hold up positions that we honor.  For the most part, Western society still recognizes that every person born has a mother and a father who in some way, shape, or form sacrificed greatly when we were all little and helpless, so we should take the time to honor them and thank them if we don’t do so on a regular basis.  I think we make mothers stand at church not to isolate those who aren’t standing, but to let their children see that “Hey, this person who you really, really detest sometimes because they are always telling you what to do and ruining your fun is actually a person that we ALL honor, so you should to.”  Before a child is old enough to “celebrate” in any real way, usually the father does something nice to acknowledge the mom and vice versa on Father’s day (But not always! This is unfortunate).  This should also be the case for those who have lost children, whether through miscarriage, still birth or death.  I think I’m quoting an insightful blogger here when I say that if we didn’t have such a day as Mother’s or Father’s Day, then we should have definitely invented it by now.

I’ve heard of a few women this week who are in the midst of infertility who go so far as to host a Mother’s Day brunch at their house.  This is the stuff martyrs and saints are made of.  I could never go that far when I was hurting.  One year we said goodbye to my grandma as she passed on Mother’s Day.  That made it very easy to focus on thanking and appreciating my own mom, as she was so clearly hurting.  The next year I took the day very literally, I called my mom, said “Happy Mother’s Day” and thanked her*.  I avoided everyone else.

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*The great part about moms is usually they understand when you don’t even do this. When you can’t do this.  I just want to be clear that I understand on a very deep level the inability to be able to partake in Mother’s Day in a specific moment, just like I understand the inability to partake in baby showers at a specific instance.  And I think we could all use a little more compassion towards people hurting.  But this doesn’t mean to misplace compassion and throw the baby out with the bathwater, so to speak (which is a horrible analogy, by the way, because really, we would never be so silly as to do that. We’d all grab the baby and run the opposite direction).  Misplaced compassion would be to say that we as a society should just not have baby showers.  We have them to celebrate the new life and provide communal support to someone who is about to have a major life transition.

Take the good, leave the bad, and understand when people need time to grieve. 

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The ironic part in my own story is that on my first mother’s day, I barely even knew it was mother’s day because I was so consumed with my baby.  And my church didn’t do the whole “stand up and get blessed” thing.  And it didn’t even matter at all.

An obvious part that is missing from current Mother’s Day celebrations (for the most part), especially in Church, is praying for those who are grieving on Mother’s Day.  Whether those who are trying to be mothers, those mothers who have lost children, and those who have lost mothers.  I can’t for the life of me understand why it wouldn’t be a given to include during the prayers said at mass or any church service, but I understand the oversight, will give the priest the benefit of the doubt, and I have emailed them to remind them that maybe it would be a good idea to include that petition.

If we honor the vocation of motherhood, we should obviously also pray for those trying to fulfill it.  Everyday, and including Mother’s Day. That’s just a no-brainer.  I encourage you to share that prayer intention with your pastor as well, its not too late!

Sueños

I subscribe to some travel emails that send you the latest in travel deals around the country/world, and a specific email will arrive in your inbox if your local city has a particular deal.  In all the ‘unsubscribing’ I did clearing out my email, this is one that I just couldn’t complete. I did change my settings to less frequent emails, but the idea of missing the crazy good deal on airfare to X location of my dreams was too much, so I stuck on the list.

I got an email alert for a deal today that took me back to almost two years ago.  It was for one of the same resorts we stayed at in our last Mexican ‘hurrah’ before we came back to the states.  We were in a bus station far from our home in Mexico, with nothing but our backpacks, trying to decide our next stop when we saw a deal alerting us to a resort in Oaxaca, “Dreams”.  The same resort I got an email for today. It was a crazy good deal for a last minute stop at a resort we never would have been able to afford otherwise, so we looked at each other, decided to blow our cash and take an overnight bus ride to the other side of Mexico and just do it.  We were young, free, and unencumbered. Trying to take advantage of the situation that we prayed everyday would leave us. We were giddy, jokes about our ‘sueños’ coming true abounded, and we ping ponged across bus connections in uncertain situations to make this trip happen.

When we showed up to the resort the bell boys asked where our luggage was. I guess it was not customary to get back packers at a place like this and we were certainly grimy looking from the last few days (and in need of doing laundry!).  At dinner there were so many girls in cute swimsuits and dresses, and then there was me in my same dress I’d been wearing the past few days.  I hadn’t felt so self conscious in a while!  I remember wondering how many of these family reunions I saw were for drug lords, since it seemed ridiculously expensive for locals and the juxtaposition between poverty and extreme wealth in Mexico was always astounding.  (I guess in America we hide our poverty better?)

But as much fun as the trip was, there was always the underlying ripple of emotion of infertility lurking below the surface. The conversations that would lead back to our impending “medical tourism” trip to Omaha.  The mixed feelings about partaking in the poolside drinks.  The thankfulness for the presence of the “adult only pool” sign.  The understanding that this resort of “dreams” was not my dream, but just a way to distract myself from our dreams not coming true.  If only my dream could be fulfilled so easily as a click on a button in an internet cafe in a Mexican bus station!

When I saw that email this morning, my mind flitted back to that weekend we spent there.  What a great time that was!  And I even forwarded the email to my husband to remind him of a past life when we bounced around Mexico, making memories of a lifetime in spite of our circumstances.  Or rather, because of our circumstances.  And it took a minute to hit me, it really was a good time. Even if I would have traded it for my real dreams of a family in a heartbeat, I’m so glad we embraced the moment and tried to make the most of it.  We were so fortunate to be able to take such a trip.

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The truth is, even living my ‘dreams’ now, there are really hard moments.  Times where I pray for the Lord to just get me through a particular moment and to choose the option that gives dignity to the gift I could never claim to deserve.  Parenting is about perspective and making the most of each moment, realizing that this too will pass and that there will be days when this isn’t quite so hard, so raw.  Funny thing is that it wasn’t parenting that taught me this lesson the best.

I was told yesterday by a work outside-the-home-mom that she had “no idea” how I could spend all my days with my son.  That it would be too hard for her.  It caught me off guard (partially because I had been told this woman did IVF to conceive her son in her late age…also named Samuel) and I didn’t know how to respond in a way that wouldn’t be offensive.  But the reality that this life is my dream.  This is how I get through each day, I have been given an incredible gift and when I hug this precious little body as he lunges and tries to get out of my arms to explore things more interesting (!), nothing can take that away.  I’ve been tempered by the reality of my dreams coming true, that is no lie, but…how blessed am I for that!  So I won’t stand looking longingly back at a life I once had, opportunities that were objects of circumstance, pining for those things again.  Because I have been there.  Those weren’t my dreams then, and they aren’t my dreams now.  So I smile at what I had, and on my knees I thank the Lord for what I have now.  The reality of my dreams.  And I smile as I click delete on that email.

Updated to finally add the tilde to the n…it was bugging me but I have no number pad on my laptop!

The Compassion Property

I like to think of things in concrete terms, in amounts I can see, measure, reflect, and observe.  I feel more assured that way, more confident of reality.  “If I have 10 apples and I give 3 to Suzy, how many apples do I have left?”

That works great when you’re building bridges and counting apples, but when you’re relating to one another and when you’re practicing your faith, these metrics cease to exist.  Unfortunately, all too often we try to make things like love have a concrete properties like matter.

The thing is, the properties of love, or a specific way to show love by understanding someone’s suffering, compassion, is not something that gets smaller as we give it out. 

And the inverse is also true. More simply, acknowledging the pain of someone else, of another situation, doesn’t take away from other pain that exists.

It sounds so simple, but do we really understand what that means? There should be no fear of showing compassion, because it doesn’t take away from what we’re going through. Sometimes when we get trapped in our effort to compete and have THE WORST PAIN or the MOST difficult situation, we fail to reach others in a compassionate way.  People do that to people trying to have children: “Oh, infertility is exactly like this problem in life” or “At least you don’t have[ this problem]!  That would be soo much harder”. And moms do it as well, “Oh, at least you don’t have [x number of children, more than you actually have]“  or, “Having multiples is so much harder!” or “And your husband has normal hours!”  Maybe there are more challenging situations and maybe you’re also going through something so we can bond by the fact that “life is hard”, but I wonder why we always feel the need to bring that up that the exact moment we’re talking about a different pain, a totally unrelated one?

That is not compassion. 

Compassion is understanding the suffering of others and wanting to alleviate it, not merely identifying and seeing yourself in them because you have had similar sufferings, although that is an understandable first step. If it stops there, its merely an immature version of self-love, even if it does come from a good place of trying to relate to others.  But we are called to love others as well, because of their dignity and likeness of God, not because we see ourselves and our specific experiences in them. Its about ultimately coming to a place where you meet them in their suffering regardless of your own experiences. 

It seems like so many of us have this fear of meeting each other in a place of suffering to show compassion.  As if we think that that will take away from the hard things we are experiencing, instead of understanding we have an immense power to help each other through it. Maybe its not so malicious as much as a fear of exhaustion, of taking on too many burdens in addition to our own.

But as anyone who cares for different people in their family knows, whether it be children or grandparents or in-laws, love does not divide as you give it to many people, it multiples.  Filled up and poured out, so that we may be filled up again.

I think we need to start thinking about compassion the same way.  There is no sense to be frugal with compassion. Pouring out love and compassion to each other can only help each of us with our burdens, not take away from what we’re each going through. 

My garden

I’ve wanted to have a garden in this house for a while, but this year I finally got around to it! I’m proud of what we have going on, so here are a few pictures. Expect more updates as we do or do not yield a harvest! Some are from seeds and other I bought since I didn’t know exactly how successful the seedlings would be after hearing some tales of failure…

That’s me and the freshly made bed with the babe.

Two beds. And the lead Driller on this project. I’m the manager and designer, he’s the muscles :)

First week after planting. They are finally perking up!

Foreground in the first bed are tomatoes and strawberries. Store bought. There will be peppers from seedlings in the middle as soon as they are big enough to release into the wild.

The second bed is all from seeds! Rhubarb in the foreground, snap peas on the vines, and squash and cucumbers in the back. Crossing my fingers these do something, but I’m already feeling like the rhubarb is off to a good start. Too bad I’m not supposed to harvest it until next year! Yeah, should have read the package closer…

Last but not least, my watermelon. Goal is for the vines to grow on the old foundation.
And for those wondering, there used to be a house back there but it got torn down. So now I get to have a garden!

I forgot to mention that there are basil and oregano up there next to the tomatoes.

Now I just have to wait. And water. But not too much. I tend to do that.

Just to clarify…

You know you’re inarticulate when you have to go back and clarify posts…

But, in regards to my last post, I just wanted to put it out there that, while I am sympathetic to the plight of the infertile/sub-fertile woman trying to conceive and those that joke about fertility inappropriately, I can not pretend like those feelings affect me at the same level personally now as they did before, hearing about pregnancy announcements, that type of thing, etc. 

Its just, I was staunch about not using the word “infertile” for myself before, but now that I have a living breathing child that I can look in the eyes, I feel even more committed to it. 

(For the record, in my head the idea was I would not call myself infertile until I had given up treatments…I was not living in fantasy land that my body could have children if I just think about the right word, I was just being realistic that for as long as I was willing to try supplements to make it conceive, then I should admit that there’s a chance.  Otherwise, what’s the point of the treatments?  I do believe at some point you have to come to terms for sanity sake.  I guess it just seems that 1 year of not conceiving is a bit quick to conclude its not possible at all.) 

Who knows if I will be able to have more children.  At this point, that is irrelevant.  It took (2) years to conceive this guy, mere months after surgery,  I know it may take years to conceive any more, if at all.  But he is my proof of the fruit my body can produce.  Not in a “if I did it once I can do it again!” way but in a, “It did it once and that is infinitely more than not at all”, way.

I feel to say that I am infertile now would be an obvious lie.  I can conceive, maybe not on my timeline and not on the timeline that anyone our generation would find appropriate or desirable, but that word is forever removed as a word to describe myself.  I know others may feel differently, but to describe myself that way seems to do an injustice to those who are actually infertile. 

My heart will forever identify with the difficulty and the pain that so little people understand. Some of my best friends and the most compassionate people I know are still in the midst of trying to sort out their body’s brokeness and find a path that their marriage can bear tangible fruit.  I’m pretty sure I will forever cry at certain things and I will want to give a voice to those hurting, I cannot erase that, but that doesn’t mean that I am by any means not content with the blessing I have.   I would love to have more children and I’m sure as time goes on that ache will get stronger.

Years from now I may eat these words and my feelings may have totally changed as I mourn the siblings I could never give Sam, but I truly believe that God has healed this part of my life.  My eyes and heart have been opened with this literal healing of my body that brought us Samuel.  My feelings on adoption and fostercare have been completely transformed with the birth of our son, and though I wish it could have been accomplished beforehand, I needed healing to take place that has. I know I have scars that may ache, but infertility is no longer an open wound for me.

I pray that this is not a temporary feeling, and that I always remember that this peace that God placed on my heart and contentment with my beautiful, wonderful son is not by accident. 

Thank God!

For Easter!  The beautiful reminder of life beyond the cross, joy beyond the pain.  It all happening for a reason, even if it seems bleak in the meantime.  It being life. The cross.

And something to take my mind off my own failures, because really, as much as I try to make it about myself, its not!  Whew! I can’t handle that type of pressure.

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Anyway, another quick little story.  Today I was reminded of how different I am, even when from the outside it looks like I go to these parenting classes and I hold a beautiful baby boy, who is quickly turning not so baby-ish anymore.  At our little mommy and me/parent ed class this morning a close friend in the class by announced she was pregnant.  It was a crazy response in my heart, the flood of aching/glee/pain/happiness/awe/jealousy mix that only those who’ve been there would quite understand was all in there and I almost started crying because, well that’s what I do, and I was like, “Ok God, this is a good thing!  Let’s rejoice that it goes right!” and having to respond on the spot in person was almost more than I could handle.  But I did! And we all congratulated her.

And then she said “April fools!”.

And I went from all those emotions, back to just one, simple one. 

Anger.

Why the heck would you joke about that?! What about that was funny?

She got us good.  Especially me.

But I quickly concluded (and tried not to be too hard on her, though I told her that was not funny!) that that is a major difference between people who have struggled to get pregnant, and those that get pregnant right away. I would never think to joke about that.  Because that would be the most depressing April Fool’s joke ever. 

“Guess what, I’m pregnant!  Actually I’m not.  Wah wah.”  Goes and cries to yourself. 

Sheesh.

And now, to put you on the spot, would you joke about that?

Utter Failure

Confession time. 

I was all too eager to share with you how my organization progress was going.  Not all too eager to share with you how my spiritual goals were progressing.  Needless to say, the title says it all.

So this is my public admission.  Because I’d hate for you to be over on that side of the computer thinking that my silence means I’m actually doing what I set out to do.

Sigh.

If I sound tired, I am.  But I am also just trying to let you know what a work in progress I am. 

So, I said I would pray before all meals, with an outside sign of the cross like I do at home.  Yeah, totally was doing great on this until…I met up with a friend from college for dinner.  Why is it so much harder for me to live my faith out loud when I am around people who knew me before I had my faith?  I wish I could just say “I forgot” to make the sign of the cross, but I didn’t.  I just, chickened out.  I just, feel like such a hypocrite.  On some level I guess that means that I haven’t forgiven myself for what I’ve done in the past?  Or I don’t want to appear too changed and thus too foreign?  Or maybe its as simple as I didn’t want to stop the conversation and be like “HEY I’M CATHOLIC, REMEMBER? Ok, continue.” This is hard for me to decipher, but I know I came home, felt like Peter, and decided to make it better going forward.  So I did.  The next day I met up with another friend from college and stuck to my Lenten goal, which was to be consistent with the way I pray in public as I am at home.  I was back on track.

For a day.

Then I had an unexpected trip home for a funeral.

And failure abounded. 

I am very aware of the unspoken separation I have caused in my family by finding a faith in general, let alone the Catholic faith.  I was a crazy child in high school (always?) and these stories always seem to come out, much to my embarrassment.  But hey, I can’t run from the past.  I did what I did, and some of those stories are pretty darn hilarious and humiliating, so all I can do at this point is laugh at myself, admit guilt/wrongdoing, and try to move on.  These people know me and my faults better than anyone else. 

But do they know my faith? 

I am aware of what has been said about Catholics in my family and I admit, sometimes I just want to take the easy route, not cause a stink, just try to go to Mass at the least inconvenient time and say my little prayer without anyone thinking that I’m trying to show anyone up. But I fail. 

And then during this trip, made for the funeral mass of the last practicing Catholic family member on the day the new pope was elected, these things that are normally silent undercurrents came to the surface in explosive “discussions”.  I am glad things were finally said, and these things discussed, rather productively (in that we all maintained relative composure and hugs happened at the end) but it took me a while to realize how this effects how I live my faith even more in front of my family and those I’m closest too.  I guess it was easier in a way when I thought these feelings of separation and causing a stir were all in my head.  Now it is confirmed they aren’t.

These things are so hard.  I know that its hardest to live out your faith with those you are closest to, but I also know that its the most important too.

So, that’s where I’m at.