A Box of Memories

I hit the garage this weekend and tried to get rid of junk. I pulled stuff down and looked through boxes. Up in the rafters was a shoe box that was taped up. As I started to peel back the tape, I realized what box was in my hands.

Emma's Box.

Ten years ago this month, I gathered together some memories of a little girl I held in my arms only to say goodbye. The baby girl I thought was going to be my daughter. Her name was Emma. I packed away a pink baby outfit, a soft bunny, cards from friends, and photos of us with the birth mom. I was in the midst of grieving a failed adoption. My arms were still empty.

Ten years is a long time.

Ten years and so much between that day when I packed a box and the day I found it in my garage.

I write this today because the pain that I felt when I packed that box is gone. A decade ago, I wouldn't have believed that day would come. I didn't know if I would ever get to be a mom. And that was the pain that pressed so deeply all those years of waiting. Wondering if I would ever have a baby in my arms. And so afraid it would never happen.

I had to be so brave. So very, very brave. And I didn't want to be.

Brave enough to go back home with my empty arms to a house filled with baby things.

Brave enough to grieve. Again.

Brave enough to decide to gather for holidays that year with family and nieces and nephews and feel the weight of my empty arms.

Brave enough to wait until I was ready to say I would try again. Even when everyone around me wanted me to move forward. Family and friends wanted me to know the joy of adoption, but I had to be ready in my own time and my own terms to try again.

Brave enough to say I would be open to another adoption. Brave enough to say no to the situations that asked for more than I could give. Ones that had too much risk. Too many unknowns.

I opened Emma's Box as my son and daughter, both gifts through adoption, rode their bikes on the sidewalk outside our house. That day when I filled a box with memories, I didn't know when my son and daughter would be conceived. When they would need a mom and a dad. When we would get the phone call that we had been chosen. I had to take each step one day at a time.

I had to be brave enough to wait.

A box that once weighed so much in my hands and was so difficult to close, I now held in my hands. A box that helped me move forward in my grief. The events represented in that box will forever mark my journey. I didn't feel it then but I was brave.

Today, I felt the healing touch of each brave step, and the strength they give me today.

I was so much braver than I felt or realized. We all are even though we often don't feel it. Every time we say yes to today. Yes to life. Yes to hope. Yes to gratitude. We are brave. The bravest women I know.

(I found the box this past September. I wasn't ready to post this until now.)

The Year I Stopped Reading Christmas Cards

The years that I walked through the holidays with empty arms were before blogs, Facebook, websites and search engines. I don't know if having those options would have helped. But I do know I felt so alone and longed for connections. I had to navigate the holidays in what felt like a spiritual and emotional vacuum. And I usually felt like I was getting the air sucked right out of me and unable to catch my breath.

I struggled how to give myself permission to do whatever I needed to find my breath again. And that was so difficult. I didn't want to have to figure this out. I wanted a baby. I wanted the pain to just go away. But I was sinking and needed air.

One of those things that blindsided me every day in December was the mail. The Christmas cards filled with pictures of my friends and their growing families.

Every time I opened a card, I was socked in the stomach. I lost my breath. The year we experienced our failed adoption was the year I decided to stop reading Christmas cards. I told my husband, "I can't open cards this year. You can if you want to. Let me know if any one died. Otherwise, I don't need to know what is in them." 

Each year after that, I decided if I would open the cards depending on how I was doing during the holidays. And for many years the answer was "not this year". Why did it take me so long to figure that out? Why did I feel such a sense of obligation to open them even though I felt so miserable?

This is the first time I have ever shared this! Not something you publicize to friends. But I share it now because it was such a gift to myself. Maybe it will inspire more gifts for those of us who need them this year. 

I love how Barbara Eck Menning puts it in Coping with Holidays from RESOLVE. Be a friend to yourself.  Instead of berating yourself for these feelings, give yourself extra love, understanding and some special treats.  For one person a treat is a luxurious bath every night; for another, it is a ski weekend, reading a real tear-jerker or listening to baroque cello music.  You know what you like. Whatever feels good, do more of it.  Whatever feels bad, do less.

So I didn't read Christmas cards. And I began to catch my breath and be a friend to myself.

The Gift of a Blue Christmas Service

I have felt at a loss of words as the holiday season is in full swing and the reality of what this time of year brings up for those of us who walk or have walked through infertility. How do you walk through an entire month that feels like it is dedicated to children and parenthood. I wish I knew how to make it easier for each one who reads this.

This week I found myself asking, "What do I wish I had known when I was in the grips of grief during the holidays?"

I found myself wishing that there had been a place to go during the holidays where  I could grieve. A place that was safe and let me feel my longing, loss, and ache away from the twinkling lights, tree trimming, parties, and carols.  A place that let be in the company of others and not feel alone.

Today, I was moved by the following invitation from a pastor in town that offered such a place.

The story of Christmas is no stranger to tragedy. Matthew's Gospel records a horrific Christmas scene that feels all too real given last week's disaster - called, the massacre of the innocents - children struck down by Herod's intolerable cruelty and hate (Matthew 2:16-18). The connection is important. 

For Christians, weeping and Christmas aren't in different stories, but belong side by side as we wait for Jesus to come again and finish what he started. Yet, in that time of waiting, we experience death, pain, divorce, addiction, loss, and many of us are desperate to hear the words "all is calm, all is bright." 

If you find yourself in that part of the Christmas story, not the part of an amazed shepherd or contemplative magi, but as "one weeping . . .refusing to be comforted", then you have a place to do just that, here, at this church, tonight at our Blue Christmas Service at 7pm in the Fireside Room.

We welcome all who hurt and mourn as an act of faith that all will be made right.

Peace,

Pastor Jon

Jesus in the Stable by Tally Rose

I was thankful and amazed that a church in town created such a space this year.  It is the first time I have ever heard of such a service. The gift of a Blue Christmas Service. 

I wish more houses of worship offered such a space. I wish I had a place to go when I was in the depth of my grieving. A space set aside to grieve. A place to be quiet.  A place to let God speak into my heavy heart. A place that says I am not alone. What a gift.

This invitation from Pastor Jon says to me, "It's okay to be sad. It's okay to be angry. It's okay to acknowledge all is not right in the world during the holidays."

The Christmas story is often not what we see displayed when we venture out into the world. But I believe it truly is a story that says, "Come. All who hurt and mourn as an act of faith that all will be made right."

All who are weary. Come. 

Anger

I have been so angry.  

Angry that my friend and I couldn’t meet just the two of us for coffee.  I told her how hard it is for me to be with the baby. So we arranged to meet when she could leave the baby with her husband. Then when I arrive she says that she doesn’t want to leave the baby with him.  She hasn’t done it once since the baby was born six months ago! What's with that?

Angry that I have to work with two pregnant women on both sides of me.   

Angry that I am surrounded by pregnant friends.

Angry that our neighbors have a newborn, and I can't even go home without hearing the sound of a baby.

Why me?

Journal Entry - February 19,1999 

Angry Sky by Gabor Peterdi 

Even now as I read my journal entry from all those years ago, I can feel the place where the anger would sit in the pit of my stomach. Some days the anger would feel like a ferocious lion wanting to pounce. Other days it would seep into my thoughts and prayers and idle moments like a venomous vapor.

And the worst part is the feeling of being completely out of control. No control over who gets pregnant around me and how they will tell me and how it changes the dynamics of the social situations around me.

Women love to talk about pregnancy. So when a women is expecting at a place of work or in a small group at church or among friends, the conversations constantly turns to pregnancy and babies and breastfeeding tips and midwives and ObGyn's and morning sickness and ultrasound pictures and birth stories.... As each one joins in to the conversation.

Once. Twice. Three times. That can be okay. But day after day. Friendship after friendship. The emotional toll it takes to smile and hold back the tears or excuse yourself to go to the restroom becomes exhausting.

So anger sets in.

Angry that I can't escape to another country or timezone where I won't have to deal with these situations. Angry that I can't turn off the "pregnancy buzz" for one day and not get blindsided.

Today, I want to give us permission to be angry. We don't really need permission; but I don't know about you, sometimes I just needed someone to tell me it was okay to feel my feelings. To hear someone else tell me that my grief was real and not to minimize it.

Today it is okay to sit with it.

Today it is okay to explode with words in a journal. Pound your fist into the pillow. Hit a ball against a wall. Rip up a phone book. Swear. Scream, "I HATE THIS!"

(All of these I did at one point in my journey. Some more often than I can remember.)

Today can be a day to let it out without turning it inward and hurting even more.

Today, I will feel and not try control it.

Today, I will breathe deep and release the anger that wants a voice.

Maybe today it can come and not consume us. 

Saying Yes to Me

I could give you a list of a hundred reasons why I struggled to take care of myself during my years of waiting for a child. Here are just a few...

Fear of loosing a friendship. Fear of someone's dirty look. Fear of rejection. Fear of admitting I was in pain. Fear of being seen as unspiritual. Fear of hurting someone else's feelings.

Christmas, Easter, a birthday, a baby shower or Mother's Day.

Somewhere along the way, instead of trying to survive another dreaded event, I started saying yes to me. That doesn't mean that I never chose to go. But it means I had to start choosing based on what was good for me at the time and not based on what was expected of me.

It wasn't easy.

At first, I felt so guilty. But I discovered that when I said yes to situations out of obligation, I often felt resentful. I don't want to live with resentments. I want to live with peace in my life. And that starts, for me, with saying yes to what feels right for me in any given situation. And I believe that is where God wants me to live.

So .... Mother's Day.

What do you want to do this year? Where do you want to spend the day? Who do you want to be with? Or not be with? What do you want to do to take care of yourself?

Do you want to skip going out to eat with your mom or sister or mother-in-law?

Do you want to stay home and watch movies?

Do you want to sleep in and have breakfast in bed?

Do you want to skip going to church?

Do you want to go on a trip?

Do you want to work in the garden or buy a new dress or read a good book?

Whatever you choose, I hope it is something that you want to do. Most of all, I hope you're gentle with yourself.

One thing I still don't like to do is go to church on Mother's Day. I don't want to stand up for a flower or a special prayer. It only reminds me of all the years I didn't get to do that. And I have yet to be at a service where the "moment" honors the many woman who struggle on this day. Not just with infertility, but maybe from a strained relationship with a mother or daughter or son, in waiting for marriage and children, from a recent miscarriage, as a  birth mom who recently placed a child for adoption, after the death of a mother or child, and so on.

So I choose to stay home and do things that I love to do. Sleep in. Go for a run. Eat fresh berries on homemade waffles. Go shopping. And have a picnic somewhere out in nature. All of those things I chose to do on Mother's Day before I became a mom. Now I do those things with my two adopted kids.

Most of all, I pray that we become women who listen to our hearts....and say yes.

One Gift at a Time

                                                               I want to let life come

                                                           One moment at a time

                                                                       One gratitude at a time

                                                            Not a list of a 1000 gifts

     Not a quota to fulfill

Not forcing my eyes to see beauty in every passing thing,

       But open and waiting to see the gift that God reveals.

I want a life surrendered 

to whatever may come

His gifts to me this day

And maybe the same tomorrow

One moment at a time

One gift at a time

A May Day Basket

May Day. The first day of the May. How are you feeling as you enter into this month? If I could, I would stop by your front door and leave you a May Day Basket as a way to say that I am thinking about you. 

I do want to leave encouraging reminders of love to you this month as you approach May 13. I don't know how you will feel on that day, but I want you to know that you are remembered. 

Today I was going to write my own thoughts about Mother's Day but then I found the following article. I wish I had written it. I love it because it says so much of what is on my heart.  I love it because it can be shared with friends and family. 

I still want to write some of my own thoughts, but for today, I will share the link below. May this be a gift to more women on this May Day. 

How To Help An Infertile Friend Survive Mother's Day

(Photo credit -- Kristen Truong)

Blindsided By Estrogen

I really don't know how to write this. I don't know how to say it without getting myself into hot water for stepping on the toes of pregnant women. I just wonder if any other women who struggle through infertility have thought, "What it is about pregnant women? Can they talk about anything else?" Everything seems to center around their pregnancy. And it doesn't seem to matter if it is baby one, two or three.

I am not around pregnant women very often so I forgot about this phenomenon. But it happened this week. I got blindsided by it. I was with a group a friends. One is expecting her second child and in her first trimester. As soon as she arrived she turned the conversation to her need for certain foods that morning. Then an appointment with the midwife. Then her first pregnancy story. And so on. Even when the topic changed, there wasn't another topic for her to bring up. She went back to pregnancy. She was in pregnancy zone.

The clincher was when one of the friends forgot why she stepped outside and the pregnant friend said to me, "Oh, I guess we all have pregnancy brain today." I said, "Uh. Not me!"

Old emotions rushed back from all the years of dealing with friends who would get pregnant and then for the next nine months seem to be dialed into another planet.

And the most difficult part of this experience is not knowing what to do about it. The pregnant friend ended up resting on the couch while the rest of us were busy outside, so I didn't say anything. But I also don't know what I would say. She is enjoying her pregnancy so it feels so awkward to be the one to burst the bubble. And yet, I want to speak up and say that it is difficult for me to hear about pregnancy all morning....That is still not easy, even after two adopted kids, to be excluded from the conversation for so long.

This time I chose to go into another room with my daughter. I later tried to change the subject and talked about my daughter's adoption. This helped. And the conversation went in another direction. Another friend arrived and this also brought another dynamic. But this situation will happen again with this group of friends. And I am thinking about what I would like to say. Gracefully. Lovingly.

This experience is different than in the past. It doesn't push on my grief.  But I realize that often my friends just see me as a mom and forget how I got here. Sometimes they forget that my kids are adopted. And that's what I can't push away. At least not this week. I don't want friends to forget (or ignore) my journey to motherhood.  Deep down, I know that no one means to. I know that no one intends to push this button in me. But when it is pushed, I want to know what to do about it.

Even as I write, I feel the old feelings of guilt. It is so difficult to speak up and ask friends to change the topic when someone is so excited about her pregnancy. In the past there were too many times when I did speak up but discovered that a friend still couldn't talk about anything else. It felt like I was being told, "If you are my friend, then you will get over your own issues and let me talk about this experience in my life whenever I want to. That's what it means to be my friend." All I knew to do was to pull away. And that was so painful. I would often feel like I was a terrible friend or resentful.

I started this blog for women to know they are not alone in their journey through infertility. I didn't realize how much I would need you all this week. I thought of you when I got blindsided. I knew that you would understand. I knew that you would know what I was feeling. I knew that I could share it here with you.

I also want to say that I wasn't sure if I should write about this because I wondered if women who are deciding about adoption will feel discouraged that I still get blindsided. But I am still a women who has never been pregnant so I still get blindsided. But not as often. And not as deeply because of my two adopted kids. And that means that I got into my car after this experience and watched my beautiful daughter fall asleep on the ride home. I hope that this is helpful and not hurtful to hear for you right now.

Most of all, I want to have the courage to speak up to my pregnant friend so that she will be more aware of her words the next time she is around a women who is struggling or has struggled through infertility. In a way, I want to speak up for all of us.

Walking Thru Another Holiday: Easter

As the Easter Sunday approaches, I wonder what you are feeling? For me, it often depended on the year or the season I was in. But I could write volumes on how infertility affects the holidays.

I remember saying to my husband, "I wish I could turn off the holidays when I walk outside my front door." I didn't want to go out in public and be blindsided by families who seemed so happy and complete. I was so good at comparing my insides to other people's outsides. It was easy to think that all the families out for Easter were perfect and free from pain. Infertility didn't cause this tendency. It just brought it up more often. Even today I know that comparing myself to others can put me in a dangerous place emotionally.

One memory of Easter that stands out to me now was when we were in the second year of our infertility struggle. We lived in an apartment that had a large living area. We hosted our international friends for lunch. Because we didn't have children we had the time to spend Saturday cooking. We prepared a feast of shish kabobs, rice pilaf, fresh fruit salad, Asian cabbage salad, parmesan rosemary bread, and lemon mouse dessert. I decorated the table with bright flowers and got out my best dishes. I went all out.

We enjoyed the meal together with our friends from China, Hong Kong, Malaysia, Taiwan, and Vietnam.  Two of the couples had elementary age children. After dessert we spontaneously decided to make paper airplanes. It was amazing to see the different designs that the men (and some women) had learned as children in their home countries. We then had a contest to see which airplane could catch the most air off the balcony of the apartment complex. Everyone seemed to feel like a child again and the joy was contagious. Even some of the neighbors came to watch. Years later the kids who were there said that was the best Easter they ever had.

This memory sticks with me because it reminds me of how I had to think outside the box in order to celebrate holidays in a way that brought joy instead of more sadness. And that year we made a choice to create a holiday memory away from extended family. We discovered that our international friends did not have any traditions to fulfill. No expectations. No "shoulds". They just wanted to be with others. This was an unexpected gift to us as we struggled through the holiday season.

Other years I needed to avoid places that would be filled with families and children. Especially if I had a week with a friend announcing she was pregnant or a newborn had recently joined the family. For my husband and I that usually meant we celebrated by hiking a favorite trail or taking a bike ride. One year I remember thinking of my friends who longed to be married and realizing that they wished they had a husband to go hiking with. And I was reminded to step back into gratitude for that moment.

Most of all, I had to be gentle with myself and get rid of the "shoulds".  As a first born who tends to be a perfectionist married to a middle child who likes to keep the peace, this did not come naturally! We sometimes had to fight and argue with each other before we could hear each other and decide to do what was best for us and not what was expected of us. This took a lot of trial and error.

This year I am reminded once again that holidays are not about having the perfect table or the perfect outfit or the perfect church service. I want to focus on what really matters. Where is my heart? Who am I on the inside? I am a beautiful child of God and I am loved. I may feel sad or angry or depressed. I can be honest with myself and move on from there. But I am loved. Not because of what I do or how I dress or who I know. I am loved just as I am.

May we all rest in that love....Today and into our tomorrows.

The Gift of a True Friend

When we honestly ask 

which persons in our lives mean the most to us, 

we often find that it is those who, 

instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, 

have chosen rather to share our pain, 

and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. 

The friend who can be silent with us 

in a moment of despair or confusion, 

who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, 

who can tolerate 
not-knowing, not-curing, not-healing 

and face with us the reality of our powerlessness . . . 

make it clear that whatever happens in the external world, 

being present to each other is what really matters.

                                                                                                                                              Henri J.M. Nouwen