Several years ago, my sister Jill had a miscarriage. It was her first pregnancy, and naturally, the loss was devastating. Our stepfather passed away only a month or two later, and the thing I remember my sister saying just after he passed was, "Now John is with my baby." The loss of the baby she loved but never knew was just as real and profound as the loss of the stepfather she knew and loved and saw with her own two eyes and hugged with her own two arms.
The Mother's Day immediately following was a painful one for Jill. We went to church and all of the mothers were asked to stand and they received a special flower. While the church was well meaning in its intention to honor all mothers present that day, it failed to remember how difficult those moments can be for women who want nothing more than to be a mother. It stung my sister more than a little bit.
As the church service ended and the pews were emptying, one wonderful woman approached Jill and gave her the flower she had received that day. She wanted my sister to know that she recognized that she was a mother too, and even though my sister had nothing but a broken heart to show for it, she deserved to be honored as well. It was a holy moment.
Brian and I began our adoption process in March of 2009. Two months later, it was Mother's Day, and I was fine. I felt hopeful and full of anticipation that perhaps next year I could celebrate being a mother myself. I might not have my baby in my arms yet, but hopefully we'd be matched with a precious little one (I'm an optimist!), and I could celebrate being a mother then.
Well, "next year" is here, and we still haven't received our referral.
My husband was so sweet to me--he gave me a beautiful bouquet of tulips with a note wishing me a Happy Mother's Day. My Mom gave me a book about motherhood. I was being celebrated, and I so appreciated it. Somehow, though, my emotions were dominated by a general wave of melancholy that had washed over me, and I wasn't sure why. When we went to church that morning, I felt like I was going to cry a couple of time, but I held back the tears because I honestly wasn't in the mood "to go there".
I felt blah, and I couldn't quite figure out why. Rather than give into the doldrums, I decided to call another "Mom-in-waiting". Emily and her husband are adopting through our agency, and we're currently #1 and #2 on the "unofficial waiting list". We both would have loved to get our referrals the week before Mother's Day, so we'd have some "proof" of our maternity. At the very least, a photo to show everyone! But alas, we didn't. I called her cell phone and it went to voicemail. As I left a message for her, I started to cry, but it was okay because I knew she'd understand.
She called me back a few minutes later, and we had a great conversation full of commiserating and venting. When I hung up, I felt so much lighter. My circumstances hadn't changed, but Emily really heard me and offered the compassion I needed. The beautiful thing about being in the trenches with someone else is that you don't have to explain anything! She didn't need any explanation for my tears or my melancholy. She didn't have to try to "get" why I still felt blah even after my sweet husband bent over backward to celebrate me on Mother's Day. She got it because she's living it, too.
God bless you, Emily! One day our commiseration will turn to celebration...I'm hoping we can crack open a bottle of champagne on the airplane en route to Ethiopia to meet our babies one day real soon!
