On the other side of Mother's Day

Holidays are hard.  Hallmark has made them impossible to ignore, but for many people, weekends like this one are full of family drama, bad memories, and loneliness. I feel so blessed to get to celebrate my first Mother's Day as a mom this year, but I vividly remember how I spent the last few Mother's Days, wishing I could just curl up in a hole until they were over. Last year, we had already moved through much of the adoption process, but the desire to be a mom was more real than ever, and there was still so much fear that our situation might fall through.

Facebook doesn't help. Every post about pregnancies or celebrating a first Mother's Day was like a knife being stabbed further into my heart. In some ways, I was killing my own joy.  I could have turned off the computer, but there's something weirdly addictive about pain, isn't there?  I guess a part of me wanted to stay mad and to hate people who had what I didn't.  Looking back on all of that now, I wish I would have been more satisfied and less resentful.  I didn't have control of my circumstances, but I was allowing my circumstances to have entirely too much control over me.

While it is true that bitterness eats away at your soul, it is also true that even the people who have legitimately mastered the art of contentment feel lonely and discouraged at times. That's part of being human.  My church, friends, and family have always been very supportive of and sensitive to hurting people, but I know that that is not the case everywhere. Our culture has a way of making people who are not married or do not have children feel somehow less important. Hear me say that wherever you are in life, you are valuable. And if you're reading this and dreading going to that Mother's Day gathering (or Christmas feast or whatever) because you know that it will reopen fresh wounds, give yourself the grace not to go. That really is a choice. People might not understand your decision, but I promise that they aren't nearly as worried about it as you are. They'll forgive you.

Although I'm immensely thankful to be "on the other side" of Mother's Day now, a part of this day will always be painful.  I can't stop thinking about Anna*, Piper's birth mom.  I wonder what she's thinking about today.  I wonder if she ever regrets her choice.  I hope she's alright.  When Piper was born and I became a mom, I promised myself that I would never forget the years of infertility we endured and that I would always be mindful of others around me who might be facing similar situations.  Anna has been such a huge part of my ability to do that (though I, by no means, do it perfectly).  I see her in my baby's face every day. Even in her absence, Anna is an ever-present part of my life.  My heart hurts for her because, despite the fact that she will always be Piper's birth mom, she is not able to celebrate this or any other Mother's Day in the same way that I can. In reality, she probably isn't celebrating at all.

In the recent years when Mother's Day was so difficult, I tried, at the very least, to be glad to have a mom who is more than worth a huge celebration.  Some of you reading this have lost your mom in one way or another, and I'm so sorry.  I'm sure Mother's Day is difficult for you, too, in perhaps a different way.

My dad called yesterday. Neither he nor I enjoys talking on the phone, so usually when he calls, I know it's about something important.  He didn't sound right.  His voice was shaky, so naturally I asked if he was okay. "I'm okay," he said, "but your mom isn't."  In about five seconds, all of the worst and best possible scenarios ran through my head in a flash. "Please don't say she's dead," I prayed. (Obviously, I need to work on not immediately jumping to terrible conclusions, but my dad also could work on not sounding so ominous!) To make a long story short, something had happened to my mom at work, and she couldn't remember anything.  After a visit to the hospital and a slew of tests, we still don't know what's wrong.  She is doing better today, though she continues to have short-term memory issues.  My point is that everything can change in an instant.  While my mom is still here, I'm going to hug her a little tighter and be a lot more grateful to have her, even and especially when we don't agree. This life is so fleeting.  Let's all count our blessings.

Looking back on the last several years, I realize that what I've been through truly has been God's kindness to me. (I've only recently been able to say that.) The seemingly endless period of longing to be a mom has given me perspective that I wouldn't have learned any other way, and it has made me a much more contented person today. Though I wouldn't wish my struggles on anyone else, I wouldn't change them. If Mother's Day is a hard day for you, trust me; I remember.  Hang on, even when it hurts and nothing makes sense; there really is a brighter day coming.

*I finally used her real name.  Bet you'll never know who she is.

Home.

For years now, I've talked with my husband about how we will "move back to Texas once we have kids."  He has been in agreement; he has spent his life in Oklahoma and knows that my family is important to me.  Now, "once we have kids" is here.  It has been here for ten months, and we're still in Norman with no plans to move anytime soon.  Until very recently, I was livid about this.

I hated Norman when I first moved here for school.  I hated the cracked sidewalks that I would trip over on my 5:00 a.m. runs.  I hated the old homes and the lack of zoning regulations.  I hated the hipsters, I hated the rich folks on the west side of the highway, and I hated basically anyone who wasn't just like me.  As time has passed, Norman's quirks have become endearing to me.  The older homes here have character (we live in one!), and getting away from suburbia is a pleasant change.  I have come to love the diversity of Normanites and now realize that spending time with people who are not just like me is good for my soul.  I don't love the sidewalks any more than I did eight years ago, but mostly I just don't love running at 5 a.m.  (That would be true anywhere.)  Still, though, I didn't think I would stay here this long. When I came to OU, I planned to get my degree and get out of Dodge as quickly as possible.  Then I met Andrew in August 2006, when I was 18, and everything changed.

I always want to have someone to blame when things don't go my way.  The main reason why we are still here is because Andrew has a great job that he loves.  While that is the primary reason, however, it isn't the only one.  I made the decision to stay here, too.  I made that decision when I married Andrew, and I continue to make it over and over again.  Just last week, I committed to a teaching contract for another school year.  I can't blame that one on my husband.    

From time to time, I get a bad case of "The Grass is Always Greener" Syndrome.  Andrew and I both love Peru and have discussed the possibility of moving there for 2-4 years.  For now, that possibility is off the table (which isn't to say, necessarily, that it will never happen).  And for now, the possibility of moving back to Texas is also not up for discussion.  I've harbored so much bitterness toward Andrew about both of those situations.  In my mind, life would be better if I got to speak Spanish every day and work with the wonderful Peruvians and Americans that we've met during our trips.  Everything would somehow be alright if I got to see my family more often and if I got to go out with my best college friends who relocated to Dallas/Fort Worth after graduation.  But the thing is, your heart follows you wherever you go.  Flower Mound, Texas might have perfect running trails, but eventually, I would get bored of the many houses that look exactly the same.  The excitement of living in Peru would undoubtedly wear off, leaving me lonely and missing American culture.  Even the greenest grass will, one day, turn brown.        

Lately, I've been so wrapped up in thinking about what might have been that I've been completely missing out on living my life.  And it really is a good life here.  It has only been within the last few weeks that I've been able to look around and realize how very blessed I am, in this very place that I've been so anxious to leave.  When I used to dream about the future, it looked nothing like the reality that I'm living.  Now I'm realizing that my dreams are not being crushed like I thought they were; I'm simply getting new opportunities.  I'm the only one who gets to live this life, and while it is not at all what I expected, it is good.  This place is home.