What Mother's Day Means To Me

Obviously it's about showing appreciation to my mother for everything she's ever done to make me the woman I am today (who is mostly a decent person :)) but for many years, four to be exact, it's had another meaning.

For myself, and a lot of my friends that I have by virtue of relationships formed in person or virtually through blogs and support groups for those living through infertility and pregnancy loss, Mother's Day is a bittersweet day.

As Jeff and I were trying desperately to have a child, every Mother's Day showed up each and every May as a rude reminder that I was not a mother.  I had failed in becoming a mother for yet another year.

Then in October 2007, I got pregnant. I finally saw those 2 pink lines that meant FINALLY all the drugs, testing, praying, and "practicing" had worked.  I was going to be a mommy.  But I couldn't accept it.  I couldn't believe it.  I was too scared of it.  I wasn't scared of being a good mom, I had a perfect example growing up.  I was scared of still never being a mom.

I've always been, and remain, Pro-Choice.  I can't judge a woman for what decisions she makes regarding abortion the same as I can't judge a man for murdering someone.  It's not my job.  It's God's.  I'm thankful that it is His job, because I have enough sins in my own life so I have no right to cast stones. 

But the day I was laying on my back, feet in stirrups, lights off, my midwife, her husband the doctor, and my husband, the father, all listened in silent and adoring amazement at the whomp whomp whomp of my child's heartbeat.  I knew in THAT single instance, whatever happened, whatever was to be, it was God's message to me that I had not failed.  That all the things we went through for a child were not in vain.  I knew that instance I was and would forever be a mother.

It feels weird for we, the survivors of pregnancy/infant loss and without out other children, to call ourselves mothers, but I carried within me a life.  Yes, that life ended before I could hold him.  But it was a life nonetheless and it was OUR child. 

For two years I begged for healing.  I talked about it incessantly.  I made my family and others uncomfortable with my constant references to our loss.  I wasn't aware I was doing it at the time.  I was too consumed with grief.  Unless you've experienced, as the mother and the fertility patient, that grief, words will never do the feelings justice.

I would travel back to that day when I laid on the ultrasound table knowing God had been faithful and gave us the child we had prayed for and wanted more than anything and ask, "How could you do that to me, God?  Why did you take MY child?  What did I ever do so wrong that You took my child?"

It took two years before I got my answer. 

I mean we'd discussed adoption as an option throughout the process but the pregnancy and loss and thrown me for such a loop that I didn't want someone else's child, I wanted MINE.  Was that too much to ask??

But today, two and a half years later, my heart is swelled with pride that we were chosen to be parents; however, not biological parents.

I truly believe that God gave me those 2 months with Miller to let me experience the joys of pregnancy.  I truly believe that Miller was perfect in God's mind but imperfect for this world.  Miller was not conceived to live.  Miller was conceived to teach.  He taught me the joys of pregnancy and he taught me the horror of having to let your child go.  He taught me how to fight, defend, and love without end a child forever, and ever amen.

I now know, that when the time is right, when the stars have aligned, when God ordains it in His perfect timing, I'll be a mother again.  But this time I will be able to share with the birth mother the joys of a new pregnancy and the grief that goes with having to part with your child and accepting that God's grace will be sufficient enough to heal the gaping wounds of our hearts.

We'll both be mothers.  Me for a second time but with only one child.  Her as a mother of a beautiful child whom she'll leave the hospital without.  We'll have more in common than most.  We'll both always hold onto the love for the child we will never raise.  I'll always hold onto the love I have for Miller and she'll always hold onto the love of little William or Charlotte.

God did that.  God is doing that.  And one day, it will be.

But this year, I'll celebrate Mother's Day different.  I'll remember Miller and I'll be thinking of William or Charlotte.

So, I'm wishing myself, a very happy Mother's Day.  And I wish it to all of my dear friends, whom this day bring about such anxiety and depression and painful reminders of children lost. 

Happy Mother's Day!