Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Mother's Day Reflections


I went to church on Mother's Day this year.

During the years of our infertility journey, JB and I had a standing date on the second Sunday in May. Canoeing. We'd canoe on the cold Minnesota waters. Downstream of course as canoeing that requires paddling is totally unfun to me.

Canoeing was safe. Canoeing was a place we could avoid any flowers on blouses. We could avoid reminders of what I wasn't. We could pretend, for a moment, that the world wasn't celebrating something we wanted more than anything and couldn't attain.

I love my own mother greatly. I thank her for being patient during this time. How difficult it must have been to see your daughter grieving on a day that you, as her mother, were supposed to be celebrated. But she never complained. That's her way.

This year, we went to church on Base. And I found it . . . surprisingly . . . difficult.

They asked the mothers to stand, and I could not stand. I tried to will my body to do it as I held Elijah and glanced over at JB and Isaac. But it was as if my weight was stuck in that pew. They had the kids come up and get flowers for their mothers, and out of the corner of my eye I saw my husband hesitate before deciding to take the boys up to get me a flower. I smiled when they handed them to me -- guilt swarming me from all sides.

I felt a wave of relief when one of our Chaplains mentioned the difficulty of this day. He himself is the parent of only one daughter. One daughter after eleven years of a marriage that did not appear destined for children. He recognized that today may sting for some. He mentioned the people there who were motherless. He said something of people who had not had a good relationship with their mother -- either as children or now as adults.

But then there was a sermon on motherhood. It was a good one. I enjoyed it. I learned a lot and laughed a lot and thanked the Lord a lot that our journey saw its way to an end of sorts.

But I looked around. And I prayed that none of this was hurting anyone.

Later, I called my own mother to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. I shared the laughs of the day. These included the boys giving me a card with their handprints inside and Elijah taddling to me, "Daddy drewed on my hand!" I told them of a trip to the Base pool where Elijah giggled and told me that a certain body part (Yes, he named it!) was, "Vewy, vewy cowwwwld." We all laughed.

But I shared the pain of the day. My Dad told me how he enjoyed being able to see mothers celebrated. And I don't disagree with him. Should we not celebrate anything because it hurts someone?

I don't want to get into a debate about that here. That isn't why I am writing this post. I'm writing because my heart is torn. I spent years on "the other side." It was in fact, just a few days before my tenth married Mother's Day that Isaac John was adopted into our home. (And that year I was too tired to even think about attending church!)

I have realized that infertility has changed me forever. I am not blaming churches for celebrating mothers. Our Chapel is a wonderful place, and I am glad to be a part of its community. Motherhood is a hard job. It's exhausting. It's nice to be recognized. It was fun to receive a craft from my boys after Sunday School thanking me for being their Mommy.

But as people hugged me and told me "Happy Mother's Day," I couldn't help but feel sad. I felt sad for all those dark years that JB and I spent -- trudging through the murky waters of childlessness. And I felt sad for the people who were hurting that day and trudging like I was. Trudging and feeling like no one knew how difficult that trudging was.

I am changed. And I am glad. It isn't just Mother's Day that causes a catch in my throat. It is nearly every holiday. It is thinking of people celebrating alone. People grieving a loss. People dreaming of more. I was one of those people, and I don't think I will ever put it completely behind me.

And I'm glad for that. It has changed me. I am more sensitive. I am more aware. I am more cautious. But I am a mom. I will smile at the cards the boys make me and let the family take me out for dinner. I will attend church.

But I will share a knowing glance with a friend who is hurting while I am being celebrated. I will encourage a grieving woman with permission to stay home from church on Mother's Day. I will send an email to those I love telling them that they are on my hearts.

And I hope you will too.

9 comments:

Amanda said...

I don't usually comment (I only lurk!), but since this is exactly what I was thinking sitting there on Sunday, I wanted to say something. It is always hard to celebrate something that hurts someone else, even when it's something that you've waited what seems like a lifetime to celebrate... thanks for putting it into great words!

Writern said...

My Pastor is also very considerate and sensitive and recognized this day as a painful one for many. It has ALWAYS been my least favorite holiday because I don't have a relationship with my mother...it is an ackward, sad day. I hate trying to get a card. Then this year is only a little less than six months since I lost a woman who was like my mom. So I understand the dichotomy...I appreciate the nice recognition and Lord knows I love my kids...but this day is bittersweet.

Joy Z said...

Until I met you, until I read your blog, I wouldn't have known how some women are desperately hurting on Mother's Day. Your writing is a gift. A gift to infertile women and also a gift to us who are already moms and who wouldn't understand otherwise the pain of infertility.

This year, when our pastor asked the Moms to stand up, I thought, "I wonder if there is anyone hurting here?" And then I was so pleased when he asked all ladies to stand up. Those who had lost children, who wanted children or who were not yet married. All were given gifts and while I know just being acknowledged and given a gift wouldn't make the pain go away for some, I loved and appreciated the gesture. Then I prayed for my friend who I knew was hurting.

Thanks Wendi!

Faith said...

I have tears, because this is exactly how I felt. I made sure to text each one of my friends (I have quite a few) struggling with infertility on this Mother's Day. I offered to bring them something, to feed them, to just listen. I holed myself up in my house for 3 years of this holiday - actually, the first year I traveled home to visit my mom and started my first cycle after my first miscarriage ON Mother's Day. It was all so devastating. I am SO glad to hear that churches are beginning to acknowledge ALL sides to this holiday. I went to Target without my kids, and was thankful I did because I wondered if anyone walking around there might have been in more pain seeing me with them. Of course we should celebrate and spread our joy in being mothers, but I also appreciate the sensitivity that I gained through my experiences. Anyway, I just wanted to say - YES! Thanks for writing this!

Anonymous said...

We always have prayer requests during our service where anyone can share something they need prayer for. I always ask the pastor (and congregation) to pray for those struggling with infertility, those who have lost children, and those who have lost thier mothers. I can never make it through without crying - so hard that I can barely get the words out. I cry because I remember what it was like to be without children (one mother's day was exceptionally difficult),I hurt for those who are still struggling, and because I'm so greatful for the gifts I've been given.

Bethany

merry said...

Thank you for sharing. I am so relieved to know I'm not alone in feeling this way because several times lately when I've tried to express it, I've felt attacked by people's responses

JenniferSaake.blogspot.com said...

I've now been blessed with kids in our home for more years than we were waiting for them to come, and I still feel so conflicted about Mother's Day! I shared my own reflections at http://infertilitymom.blogspot.com/2011/05/through-another-mothers-day.html

denise said...

I feel exactly the same way. I always sat through those services with the saddest heart when struggling through infertility. I was so excited to have my first Mother's Day! However while sitting in the church service I felt all the horrible lonely, sad, frustration of feelings pour over me. It made my heart hurt for those dealing with infertility. It also made me realize that I had never let myself fully FEEL through all my struggles. Every mothers day since I feel the same way you do. 1/2 excited to spend Mothers day with my own kids, and 1/2 sad for those struggling. Hence my FB post on Mother's Day that also acknowledged those struggling because they have a Mother's heart already.

Tina said...

Hi Wendi!

Here from HP. I loved this post--this Mother's Day was my first, and I totally felt the same way. I blogged about it, too.

Thanks for sharing your heart.