Gift of Motherhood
“Gift of motherhood” is not a phrase that was truly appreciated in my home when I was growing up, because it was not a term fully understood. To our family, motherhood was born in martyrdom, so it wasn’t a gift—but a duty. And we kids felt it. These two words, “gift” and “motherhood” was an oxymoron. And it wasn’t until I came to understand the beauty of dialectics of motherhood that I finally appreciated the term.
As a latch key kid of the 70’s/80’s, I wondered why it was so hard for my mom to relish her role as mother and dote on us like my Caucasian friends’ mothers did. Why couldn’t she just “yay” and celebrate every little effort we made? Why was it my friends’ mothers who were surrogate parents to me—giving me rides, congratulating me on achievements, talking and listening to me…while my mom was “absent” to me emotionally? There always seemed to be a self-protective, isolated wall my mom built around herself with her hobbies/obsessions I could not penetrate. And so for a long time I was stuck developmentally in this longing for her…yet judging her at the same time. Liking certain things about her, but unable to appreciate her motherhood without getting the things I wanted out of her.
And yet here I was slowly becoming like my mom. I was struggling with the loss of my independence when I “became one” with another human being in marriage, and then 3 kids later as well… I felt sandwiched with resentment toward the generation before and after. So in the process, I took for granted the three kids that came so easily to me, while others struggled and prayed for children.
It wasn’t until this week I understood the depth of my mother’s story and my own, and learned to appreciate the phrase “gift of motherhood” a little more. The last two days I was fortunate enough to partake in a two-day perinatal bereavement training sponsored by Resolve Through Sharing®. We learned how to come around those who are grieving losses surrounding their perinatal period…whether it is stillbirths, infant deaths, or miscarriages. There was so much care and sensitivity, and so much vocal emotions that need to be considered when dealing with those who may be feeling shock, joy, and grief at the same time.
I still remember the photo of a mom’s face at the birth of her stillborn in the delivery room…the lips and eyes contorted into expressions of sadness and grief, yet a celebratory pride also. There is so much heartbreak on the part of the grieving families, yet it is woven in their celebration/meeting of their child, no matter how still. So much celebration and grieving happen in the same space and time.
And as I sat there weeping for the individual experiences the moms went through, I couldn’t help but think of my own mom telling us that the reason there was a 10-year gap between my eldest sister and my brother were all miscarriages, stillbirths, and brothers who lived two weeks, and died. She would never get into detail, and now I understood… How could she? How could she relive the pain? Her hopes for those babies were probably all encompassing because they were sons for my male-favoring dad to cherish. Yet, they all died. And with them, maybe a sense the life she hoped for with my dad—her husband, who maybe would love her more if she gave him more sons? But unlike the moms and their children honored in the video, my mom did not have that space to celebrate the birth and thus completely mourn.
I felt truly guilty for having judged my mother. I felt so much guilt and empathy, as I remembered my own scare with my second pregnancy, being told it was probably an ectopic pregnancy, and having a DNC scheduled. I remember the tears just falling without my awareness. And going into the appointment mournfully for the last sonogram before the DNC, when the sonographer victoriously said, “don’t let them touch you! We’re cancelling the DNC.” I felt so relieved and fortunate. Yet now, looking back, what about other moms who don’t have the same outcome? What about my mom who did not have that same reprieve?
What this workshop helped me understand was this process, the need to honor and celebrate in some concrete ways the positives, while facing the reality of the negatives. The two seemingly opposite experiences could be woven into something beautiful.
I came away from the training, wanting to honor my mother somehow this year, and the births she had. Whether those of my other brothers I never met, or other births of projects and ministries she is proud of. I don’t know when our last year together will be as she is deteriorating in health. But instead of mourning her losses, I want her to celebrate her births…
Wednesday night, after the program was over, I called my mom. She didn’t answer; she was outside in the dark gardening alone. I thought about what was going through her mind. Once she returned my call, we talked, and I told her about my training and acknowledged how much in pain she must’ve been in all these years, and if/how I could honor the brothers I never knew. I could tell it was still too raw and weird for her to go there…she said she only wishes that I would live my life well, with my husband and kids. We both cried, and it was very healing.
In so many ways, motherhood is about piecing together the story of losses and births… about bereavement and celebrations, and the blessed understanding that you cannot have one without the other, I finally started to understand…It’s about losing your independence, and birthing a precious relationship, it’s about losing your expectations, and birthing and embracing reality, it’s about holding “what is,” and “what is not” together, side by side. Holding.
And that is what God does with us, his children. No matter what condition we are in, spiritually speaking—stillborn, alive for a short while, disable, or healthy. He takes joy in us, and celebrates us as His children. He holds us as we are, as what is, while not letting go of what is not, and what is yet to be. He does not judge. He celebrates the birth of new hopes, while he grieves the losses of what could have been. And those things are not mutually exclusive.