In May 2004, I was married more than a year and had been trying to get pregnant for exactly that long. After all, I was now past 40 and according to my endocrinologist, way past my prime fertility. By then I'd finished taking the fertility drug Chlomid more than six months ago and was now taking daily "trigger" shots to stimulate my older eggs and enduring monthly IUIs (Intrauterine Insemination....you get the picture...) I guess you can say the "fun" part of TTC (AKA "trying to conceive," ) was replaced by less romantic things like basal charts and thermometers. Just days before, I'd suffered through my seventh unsuccessful IUI.
That second Sunday in May rolled around and there I was, sitting in mass, holding back tears as they handed out roses to female parishioners. Red roses for the moms, white for those of us who've lost our moms. It had been four years since my mom had died but I refused to go up and get my blessing and my rose. My husband, John, whispered that a blessing might help us finally get pregnant. This year, however, I felt nothing but anger. I was deep in the midst of my own pity party.
After mass, I went for a drive. Of course I visited my mother's grave. I brought the obligatory potted floral arrangement and sat there in silence. Usually I talked to Mom. This time, I cried and said nothing. Right next to the cemetery was my favorite nursery and on this day I decided to literally stop and really smell the roses.
Living in Michigan, I usually waited until Mother's Day weekend to pony up the cash to buy my outdoor flowers. That was my own barometer for when plants won't likely die from overnight frost. On this sunny afternoon, I took my time browsing at plants and trees and even watching a few botanist presentations. I then selected lovely hanging plants and three trays of perennials to plant. I realized an hour in sunlight among lovely flowers can be most healing. I was almost feeling like myself again when the young man behind the counter said the most crushing words to me.
"Happy Mother's Day!"
I looked behind me, thinking he was speaking to someone else. I was alone. I felt rage bubble up as I thought about how presumptuous that was! I glared at him and told him bluntly that I had no kids, feeling satisfied by the pinkish blush that came over his face as he apologized for his assumption. Apparently, however, he didn't learn his lesson about making inaccurate assumptions. After a moment of silence he said,
"These are lovely, are they for YOUR mom?"
Another glare by me told him he'd again misspoke. Like an out-of-body experience, it flew out of my mouth before I could stop it.
"My mom is DEAD and I can't have children. Anything ELSE you'd like to know today?"
The poor guy looked as if I'd slapped him and at the time, I wished I could have. He stammered through the rest of the transaction as awkwardly as he could while hot angry tears stung my eyes. I never expected to behave quite so harshly and yet I think it was the acknowledgement of my words having given me a label....I realized in that moment that I was motherless and kid-less, which, thanks to Hallmark not having a card for women in my boat, made me feel invisible and unlovable.
As I stomped out of the store pushing my flowers in a cart, I felt a moment of sympathy for the guy. After all, he knew nothing about me and was just trying to be nice. It was better than having a rude cashier. I was just about to turn back to apologize when I bumped right into him. He had followed me out to my car because in my haste, I left my credit card with him.
As he handed me my card he started to apologize but I told him it was me who needed to apologize, I was having a rough day and I shouldn't have taken it out on him.
"It's OK," he told me. "My wife had cancer and she's in remission right now. We can't have kids, either," he said softly. "We're both working two jobs so we can afford to adopt, maybe you and your husband can think about that, there's lots of kids without parents," he explained, as he helped me load my trunk. He proceeded to tell me he was an accountant during the week. Wow, I thought. This guy's wife might die and he's not even angry. It was a humbling moment for me. As I slammed my trunk closed, the same young man I'd shouted at 10 minutes earlier was now wishing me luck and offering to pray for peace in my life. It was now my turn to stammer. Feeling like a piranha, I got into my car, put my head into my steering wheel and bawled.
I drove back to Mom's grave once more and this time I asked my mom to pray for me, for acceptance of God's will, either way. I'll never know if it was Mom overhearing my prayer or the goodness of the man in the nursery, but for the first time since our journey to become parents began, I felt a sense of peace come rushing over me, telling me I'd be OK either way. Suddenly, I didn't care that there were no cards for a married woman with no kids, whose mom was gone. Hell, I'm a creative person, maybe I'd create a card for myself and others like me but even if there were no such sentiments to validate myself, I knew I was just fine.
It was that night that John & I decided I should stop the awful fertility drugs that made me "bat shit crazy." We'll try adoption, we decided. I excitedly called my brother who was, with his wife, already in the process of adopting my nephew. I excitedly told him we would be looking into adoption, as well. Less than two months later, despite the fact that we were now off all fertility drugs, we learned I was pregnant. It seems that once I'd embraced my role in the universe, once I'd started taking acupuncture to relax and once I'd stopped trying to control it all, I'd become pregnant. the main point here is that, like it or not, I conceived on God's time, not my own. Maybe there really was something to the old notion of "stop trying." This holds true for many other things in life. Looking for love? Don't stop looking altogether, get yourself out there on the internet dating sites or take up a hobby that will introduce you to new people but stop trying to control every aspect and trust in providential timing.
Just today, some ten years later, I thought about that young man in the nursery. I wished I'd have thought about him sooner because perhaps I'd have gone back in there to tell him how well his prayers for peace worked in my life. Now that I live 600+ miles away, It's unlikely I'll ever get that chance. I do hope that his own prayers to have a family with his young wife came true, as well.
So that's it. No big "gotcha" here, today. No thematic pull through the story to give my words a tight, snappy ending. Just a reflection on how differently one Mother's Day was from the next. In one year's time, I'd gone from being a woman filled with despair, envy and yearning to a new mom, hosting my daughter's Christening Party the next year. Never think your life can't change for the better in one year's time, because, sometimes, despite all the sadness and harsh reality we see every day in the news, dreams really do come true. It's not just something that happens in a Disney movie.
Today, as I give thanks for all the joys of my own motherhood, I'm also praying for women everywhere who want to become moms. I'm sending out a special prayer tonight, asking God to unite all who want to be moms with all the children, born and unborn, who need a mom.
I'm also asking God to console grieving moms or moms separated for any reason, from their children. Now that I'm a mom, I can't imagine a single worst feeling in the world than to be a mother who is separated, either by death or any other reason, from her children. For those who, like me, miss their moms every day now that they've gone on to their rest, Mother's day might be the one day of the year where you still wish you could run back home to hug your Momma. I send you all a prayer of consolation as well.
And finally, whether you're expecting your own bundle of joy, changing diapers, wiping faces, cheering on T-ball, grounding your teenagers or meeting your grown kids for brunch, I wish you all a peace-filled day, where you laugh often and hug tightly the people who first dubbed you with your most beloved name of all -- Mom.
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