Infant Loss and Miscarriage Remembrance Day

This is perhaps the worst holiday ever.  It makes me wonder how the first people who celebrated Memorial Day felt.  It wasn't all barbeques and family gatherings then. Sorrow from the tragedies of recent war called for a collective day of mourning and gratitude.

Once one hits full adulthood, one cannot help but know people who have lost children through infant death or miscarriage.  My own mother lost her youngest son within days after birth due to birth defects from some medicine she was on. She carried that sorrow forever -which does not even mention the miscarriages.  I remember the last time she was pregnant, I asked her if she was happy.  She said, "I love our babies, but I'm scared about this one.  We are talking about it too soon."  And that wee one didn't make it to birth.

My amazing sister in law lost her first son so close to his birth, as well as others.  Her other healthy and sassy 6 heads around the table disguise the fact that pregnancy is both gamble and sacrifice.

No one wants to talk about the babies who left the world so much sooner than we dreamed they would.  This leaves too many people hanging in the shadows on different parental holidays.

Last Mother's Day, I went to Mass with my dear friend, Lori.  After the Mothers Blessing was said over all the standing women, she sat down, leaned over and said, "You have the right to stand up.  Your babies count, too."  I felt quite proud for not bursting into tears.

I am the mother of miscarried babies.  I haven't met any of them in person yet, just felt them growing under my heart until a rush of blood took them away.  I've known since I was 18 that having children isn't really in the cards for me, but even though the circumstances were never great (unmarried, not particularly stable) the hope that defied logic was always there.

Most of the women I know who have buried children have gone on to parent their rainbow babies, and I know that isn't my future, either.   My mother was told to not talk about her lost ones, put it behind her, look at the gorgeous kids she has right in front of her.  What I have that my mother did not in her day is the ability to share these sorrows with friends and people who love me.

Still, the sorrow is so personal, I have never shared this publicly before.  Part of this was not feeling that I, unmarried, practicing Catholic, had the RIGHT to feel sorrow for babies that weren't supposed to be here anyway.  This is, of course, complete nonsense, as my dearest Lori pointed out, yet so many of us think that way, even if we don't admit it.

I don't know much about my kids but I think about them.  I've woven stories in my head, and given them fanciful names that befit great adventurers.  I'm looking forward to meeting them in Heaven, where all the answers are.

So even though this is the worst holiday ever, I hope we all reach out in peace and love and tenderness today, and learn to listen with our whole hearts to words that have been unsaid too long.  My great wish for this day is that a few of these words I have written reach another woman standing in the shadows, that she knows I'm right there holding her hand.

...and even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
with nothing on my tongue
but Hallelujah...

-Leonard Cohen, Broken Hallelujah

Fair Pay Gospel

Everyone knows the Gospel from today... A guy intermittently hires various people throughout the day and at the end of the day, pays them all the same.  The folks who worked hard all day thought they deserved more pay than the folks who showed up at the end.  The guy told them to suck it, in a very Biblical way.  He can pay the same to everyone if he wants to.

Aren't we all kind of like that? I know I want to get paid more when I work harder, regardless of the deal struck at the beginning.  It Isn't Fair is my inner mantra.  We are all about merit, and forget that salvation, grace, love, are all pure gift.

In our limited view, we completely ignore the gift of being chosen early.

Think about it. Day laborer, you don't even know if you will get hired at all.  You worry about feeding your kids, keeping the roof over your heads.  Then bang, you get chosen for a job first thing!

How you rejoiced!  Fair pay negotiated, you get to work, planning what to do with that day's wages.  You spend the day thinking how you will feed your kids, and maybe even buy a new skirt for your daughter who has been oh so patient with her old one.

You are happy when the next wave of laborers arrive - more hands make work light.  It is hot, sweaty work, but there you are, earning a living, the wolves pushed back from the door one more day.

Then, your employer calls it a day and starts handing out wages.  You notice he is giving what he promised you to the folks who showed up last.  You assume you will be given even more because you were there ALL DAY.

Except, what he places in your hands is exactly what he promised you first thing in the morning. And you are mad because you MERITED more pay, at least in your own eyes.

You have completely forgotten about the joy you carried with you from that moment you were chosen all day long... The joy of security, of being able to make plans, to let go of the fear.

You forgot about that gift of peace, which the folks who showed up at the end of the day did not experience.  They sat on that corner, eaten up by fear that there will be no food or shelter because there was no work.  They weren't among the chosen until the end.

Just something to think about.

People Who Like You

So, I went home to Indiana this past week, with a quick trip to Boston after that.

I went to Indiana to be with my SIL whose mother passed away.  Her mom was a beautiful person who was so good to me, especially when I was a teenager.

In the midst of the sadness, there were a lot of funny and happy moments.  As the days went by, I found myself less anxious and sad.

Being around people who like you has that effect.  I get bursts of it here and there in normal life, but going someplace and having a wee lad shout, AUNT AMY IS HOME!! and flinging his arms around your legs has the effect of making you feel downright popular.  Lots and lots of hugs and tears and giggles and all those things that makes you feel so much less alone in the world.

Being with people who know you pretty well and want to be around you because they find so much about you positively endearing really does soothe over the rough patches of being in a tough world with people who see you as a means to an end, rather than an actual person.

There is strength in having people who remind you that you are more than a spreadsheet, or a target or Productive Contributor.  There is power in being reminded who you REALLY are -strong, resilient, honorable, true.  And there is simple joy in knowing you are loved, imperfect, but present, and real.

Broken Hallelujah

I’ve been crying a lot lately.  Crying from joy, sometimes.  Crying from relief.  Crying from stress, disappointment, sadness. Crying from the reality of betrayal. Crying from exhaustion, bewilderment, a sense of being constantly behind and overwhelmed.

On the way home from the gym this morning, I heard this:

(Cue music)*

God of Mercy, sweet love of mine

I have surrendered to your design  (my brain:  BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE ANY FUCKING CHOICE)

May this offering stretch across the sky  (HERE IT IS!! THIS GIANT PILE OF COMPLETE CRAP!)

and these Hallelujahs be multiplied  (MY GOD WHY HAVE YOU ABANDONED ME????)

And right there, I pulled over to the side of the road, put my head in my hands and sobbed, the WHY? detonating to the deaf heavens.  Empty fingers covering my eyes, forehead on the steering wheel, the inescapable reality of desperation.

and then:

You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well, really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light in every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

and there it was... someone who actually understood that everyone has a breaking point, that everyone gets their faith shaken, that everyone reaches a point where only blind hope keeps them moving forward no matter how empty their hands or their hearts.

I started the car, and drove back into the rest of the day.



* Need To Breathe, Multiplied, and Leonard Cohen, Hallelujah

Being a Grown Up

As I felt my clothing get tighter and tighter, and watched the scale nudge higher and higher, anxiety started to creep in.

I blamed the stress in my life, which admittedly is pretty considerable.  I searched desperately for some sort of motivation to get me back on track.  What do I care about enough to make it a goal for healthy living?

Let's face it, when my choices are "drown the bad feelings in cheesecake and take a nap" or "eat the nice salad and go take a walk in the sunshine and meditate on the fact that you are making healthy choices" cheesecake and napping will win, hands down, every time.

Then I concluded that everything I had been blaming for my weight gain actually wasn't responsible.  The stress did not force feed me cookies.  The anxiety did not pour more wine.  The responsibility was all on me.

Then I concluded that there is nothing I care about enough to make it a goal... I don't care enough about climbing Mt. Humphreys, staying out of a wheelchair when I'm old, or looking hot.  My immediate personal goal has nothing whatsoever to do with anything physical, and all my energy is focused on that.

So, as a friend pointed out, sometimes, you just have to chug away.  It is a duty. It is the right thing to do.  Chug Chug Chug

In other words, be a grown up about it.  Do what needs to be done because it needs to be done.  It isn't fun, new or exciting.  There is no immediate gratification.

I was given this one body.  Scripture tells me I was bought for a price, and so am to glorify God in my body.  It isn't my toy, to discard or abuse as I feel on any given day. 

So, whether I am glorying in everything my body can do (like, dance, pick up heavy stuff, cuddle) or exasperated at its needs (healthy food, enough movement, sunscreen) it isn't about my FEELINGS.

It is about being a grown up about it.

Little Holy Places

I took a road trip this weekend to Tubac, AZ.  It is about 25 miles north of the Mexican border, and one of the prettiest places in the world.

I was visiting a dear friend and giving my brain a break from all its incessant worrying.

The church in Tubac is tiny, fitting maybe 100 people if everyone squished in and it isn't so hot you mind a bit of cuddling.  The benches are the old style must-be-5-feet-tall-or-shorter-to-ride kind. 

You can feel the Holy Spirit just glowing through.

My God Is So Big moments came during the night, staring up at a sky so dark you can see every star God made.

By complete surprise, we ran into Irene right before lunch on Saturday -one of the women who walked the Camino de Santiago when I did, only taking the Northern route. Small world!  The three of us recounting our experiences and what we learned, and reminding each other that the Camino continues at home made that deli another holy place.

I forget so easily.  I had forgotten that God just wants to be with me, that I am His beloved daughter, that none of my burdens are mine alone to carry.

I had also forgotten my own responsibility for honoring my own needs, remembering that I count, too.  I had been busy blaming the stress in my life for my weight gain, for example, rather than admitting my own responsibility... my boss certainly isn't making me eat junk food or telling me to stop exercising.

The little holy places felt like a retreat from normal life.  Sometimes it does help to leave the dishes undone and the laundry in the basket and go someplace lovely to just be.

The little holy places remind you of the things you've always known.

Be The Cool Person

It is no secret (mostly because I talk about it a lot) that my childhood had a fair number of challenges.  Every kid handles it differently.  I internalized a lot of it and felt worthless, etc., for a very long time.

One time -I forget if it was in college or my last year of high school, a few of us were talking about our career aspirations.  I was constantly changing my mind about life at that point and it seemed like everyone around me had their paths all planned out.

I said, "I think it would be so cool to be journalist*.  You'd get to meet all these cool people!"

and my brother, Robert, said, "Why don't you just BE one of the cool people and do something awesome with your life?"

(As you can see, he has always been the bigger thinker and dreamer.  When I was 4 and playing with my imaginary horse in the back yard and calculating the cost of hay, he (age 6) was building a space ship in my "meadow" and felt genuinely let down when he couldn't get it to launch.)

So, I scowled at him, but he did get me to think.  I was a bit surprised at the thought that, I, weird and awkward and bookish, with no social sense and horrid hair, could be one of the cool people and have an interesting life.  I was Luna Lovegood before she was born. 

Frankly, I think Luna Lovegood steals the Harry Potter show.

So, a lot of my life has been the ongoing realization that, Hey! I can do that!! after spending too much time thinking stuff was out of my realm of possibility.

Hey! I can have an opinion!
Hey! I can support myself!
Hey! I can go to law school!
Hey! I can buy a car on my own!
Hey! I can make mistakes and survive!
Hey! I can be an athlete!
Hey! I can go to another country alone and not speak the language and still have massive amounts of fun!
Hey! I can be different!

I did not consciously TRY to have a cool life -it came about from the slowly dawning realization that the only thing ever holding me back is me.

That is something I have to make more effort to remember.


*journalists can be cool people, too. All the ones I know are.