I hated Mother's Day.
I hated the romanticized lip service people spat out when they extolled their mothers and pretended they never got yelled at. I rolled my eyes when people got misty in their's over rose-colored events and umpteen boo-boos kissed with the miraculously healing maternal smile elixir. I closed my eyes in exasperation to their stories of sacrifice against all odds in insurmountable storms while blind, starving, with broken legs and needing a manicure.
Why? Because I wasn't a mother.
Because I sat at church, Sunday in and Sunday out, listening to dozens of talks on families and eternity and Mother's Day tear fests and baby blessings clenching my jaw while endometriosis cysts ate my ovaries with cruel, excruciating teeth. Because I had been to the gynecologist and he had actually clicked his tongue at me while wielding the sonogram wand. Because on some red days I couldn't even rise from bed to face the day without unfolding from painful attacks that curled me into a fetal ball. Because I would not face merciless comments or pity. Because I wanted to cradle my own baby in my arms and couldn't.
One Mother's Day coincided with the worst possible event that can happen on that day for a woman who wanted children and couldn't have them: a baby blessing. I got up and left the chapel. The emotional upheaval and pain dealing with infertility was as bad as the physical agony of endometriosis flaring. I sat on the foyer couch, loving my waterproof makeup for its ability to hide my anguish, and wondered about my strength dealing with this challenge. I wanted to be accessible to the Spirit, but some days it seemed that my heart was just turning to stone.
Heavenly Father has an ironic sense of humor (points submitted: the giraffe, the armadillo, letting us call a bird "Blue-Footed Booby"). Sometimes He answers prayers with a "Yes." Sometimes He answers prayers with a "Not yet." And sometimes He answers prayers with an "I have something better for you." Most of the time, I fought against His "Not yet." But being the perfect diplomat, He knew how to handle sending me emotional resusitation just when I needed it. On the verge of giving up hope on that Mother's Day, somehow a trickle kept my heart alive. I would again emerge from being crumpled to blaze ahead.
Again.
And Again.
3 comments:
Oh, yes, the Mother's Days...as they started to stack up after finding out about our dear friend infertility (ahem, sarcasm...), I would look back on the blissfully innocent ones, where I actually thought I was the one who chose to not yet be a mother, hahahaha!! Seriously, you just gotta laugh sometimes. Also, I don't want to read into things (okay, maybe I do ;), but is there something to read into with that last "and again" ?!?!?
Yes. Didn't all those pokings and proddings and tests seem to go on forever? I gave up hope and rekindled it several times during the whole endometriosis debacle. It's such a draining cycle to go around in.
Mother's Day was hard for me too. I especially hated it when people would say, "Just focus on your own mother and it won't be so bad." Now, I fully believe in the forget yourself and serve others mentality - it really works. But in this case, people should have kept their thoughts to themselves.
Great post, Julie. I look forward to more!
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