Compassion on Mother's Day

What does it mean to be a mom?

We give our time, our energy, our very life blood for our children.

For my children, whom we are adopting, it means wrapping my arms around the baggage they have brought into our lives.

There are memories in this family which I did not help to create. There are shadows in this family that hang on to my little ones. Fears rise in their hearts in the middle of ordinary days that I can only hope to understand.

The other night I headed out for a quick walk while my husband made dinner (yes, I'm a lucky girl) and the kids jumped on the trampoline with friends. I let them know I would be back in time for dinner, but the sight of me walking up the road was too much for them. My son yelled "Bye mom!" at the top of his lungs for as long as I could hear him. And my daughter cried out to her friends as she jumped, "Guys, don't you SEE my mom is LEAVING?" Their voices were high pitched, full of stress and fear. The shadow of the mother who left them and never came back lingers still.

Mother's Day is a day of loss and grieving for children who are adopted. Their birth mother is psychologically present every single day, even when not consciously acknowledged. Mother's Day is also a day of loss for so many others, whether they mourn the loss of a mother, the loss of a child, or the loss of a dream of having children. 

This Mother's Day, may we be filled with compassion for all as we acknowledge that everyone's journey is unique. May we spend time embracing the dear family and friends who are near us, even as we cry for the ones we miss. It's a day to honor motherhood in all of its many dimensions, and the deep love we hold in our hearts for mothers and children everywhere. 

Compassion

Three months after our two foster-to-adopt children moved in with us full time, I am finally sitting down at my keyboard to contemplate the impact of this change.

I've always believed that at some level, a person's child is a reflection of them. This has become quite distressing to me in recent weeks as our two young ones, age five and six, have made some of their true selves known. For the past six years, they have been under the influence of other adults. When I am in public with them, they look enough like me that people assume they are biologically mine. On certain occasions, though, I have wanted to scream, "I am NOT responsible for this behavior!"

We are unwinding years of exposure to things that little children should never experience. This will take months and years. It requires my heart to stretch out in ways I didn't think possible. To love a child who doesn't always not love in return is hard. It requires a constant return to a state of compassion, to grace.

If I drop judgment toward others, I can move closer to these precious young ones. If I treat myself with compassion, I have more compassion to share with them.

Someday I will look back on this time through the mist of memory. I hope I will be able to say that I grew and stretched, and that the world is a better place, at least for two lives.

For they shall be comforted

When someone dies, they are gone. Whatever our beliefs about the afterlife, nothing prepares us for the harsh reality that the person we knew and loved is not here on earth anymore, for the remainder of our natural lives. The finality of this is shocking and intense, at least it was for me when I experienced it.

Friends lost a loved one this week, and the familiar feelings are all haunting me again. The vacancy, the hole. The impossibility that a person can be here one day, gone the next. It is a reality altered, our world unhinged. It is a great mystery of the universe, how a life can profoundly impact others so greatly, yet be gone in the blink of an eye.

It's been over two years since Liza passed. And yes, I am still processing her death. In our society I could be blamed for wallowing, but friends, our society isn't so good at grief.

A book I'm reading featured this quote.

"Healthy are those who mourn. Only very recently have we begun to realize that to deny grief is to deny a natural human function and that such denial sometimes produces dire consequences.

"Any event, any awareness that contains a sense of loss for you can, and should, be mourned. This doesn't mean a life of incessant sadness. It means being willing to admit to an honest feeling rather than always having to laugh off the pain. It's not only permissible to admit the sadness that accompanies loss - it's the healthy option."

- Donald L. Anderson, Better than Blessed

Sometimes when I read the Sermon on the Mount, it brings feelings of anger. "Blessed are those who mourn," Jesus said. Mourning doesn't feel like a blessing. It brings about some of the most painful feelings I have ever experienced. It has been one of the darkest seasons of my life.

It seems to be an essential part of the human experience, though. It is necessary in a fallen world where things are far less than ideal. So I'm clinging to the second part of the verse, "for they shall be comforted." Whether in this life or the next, I believe there is comfort for all who mourn. And that is worth holding onto.

Something Different

This week we have been busier than normal with our jobs. So for this post, I don't have a lot of time to reflect on the grief process. I do want to share the following blog though. Hopefully you will take a moment to read and share... on your blog, Facebook, Twitter, e-mail, or good old fashioned Pony Express if you desire.

Click here: A Different Sort of Fairy Tale

I'm thinking calming thoughts today in the midst of stress...

Have a beautiful week.


P.S. - I'm not getting anything for sharing this, or entering the drawing that is mentioned - just want to help spread the word.

The Butterfly Circus

The greater the struggle, the more magnificent the triumph...

I love this short film.

It's such a good story of how each of us has value, no matter the circumstances that biology or life have thrown at us. And it's a wonderful look at how we can overcome adversity and create something wonderful out of the ingredients life has given us.

I hope you will watch... I did, and it made me really appreciate the specialness of everyone around me.

Things like this mean so much more to me after having and losing a daughter with Down syndrome.

When people acknowledge and celebrate the unique qualities of every human being, it is a benefit to us all.

Click here to watch.

Less Alone

I spent the last week in training for work. During the group introductions on Day 1, I realized that there is an often silent minority of individuals in our society who may wish to have biological children, but do not.

As we went around the room and gave introductions, those who had children shared about them as a central part of their lives, as they should be. I was sitting there thinking and wondering if I was the only one in the room who wished they could say the same, but could not.

Our baby girl gave us her first and only hint of a smile on the way to her heart catheter procedure, which would be the first in a domino series of events that would ultimately end her life.

Whether due to infertility, miscarriages, a child being stillborn, losing a child later in life, or simply not finding the right partner, I am realizing there are more of us out there than meets the eye. This is because we often don't talk about the loss, the missing piece, the disappointment. Even Facebook is a microcosm of this issue: many people seem to post about the highlights in life and bury the low points.

As I walked back to our training room from lunch one day, I heard one classmate talking to another about their plans for the holiday week. The first woman said to the other that her 14-year-old son had been adopted via an open adoption process, so he was visiting with his birth family for a few days. Looking at this woman, I never would have guessed that for whatever reason, she ended up adopting her son. Admittedly, I am making a giant assumption that this woman chose adoption because biological conception was not an option -- but given the cost of adoption, allow me this luxury for the sake of argument.

I think it is easy to assume we are the only ones who have struggled with some loss. It helps, though, to know that we are not alone. There are often others who are walking similar roads, and they are closer than we may think.

When we have enough courage to open up about our challenges, the results may surprise us. For me, at least, it has resulted in feeling less alone on the path of life. And feeling less alone is worth the risk.

Having Compassion... for Ourselves

Guilt is a common struggle for people going through the grief process. We often blame ourselves for the tragedy that has struck a loved one, or review events in our minds over and over again to see if we could have done anything differently.

The reality, though, is that we could not have stopped the disaster if we wanted to. Still, our minds seek someone to blame, and too often we turn that blame on ourselves.

Lately I've been working on forgiveness - forgiving other people, but more importantly, forgiving myself. This isn't necessarily tied directly to the events that led up to my daughter's death, but it has more to do with my general outlook and mindset about the road I'm on.

The sweet baby girl whose life, and death, have forever changed me and the path I am walking. Here, Liza Jane is surrounded by the many accessories our kind hospital nurses used to prop her up and make her comfortable. She's making one of her cute fishy faces in this photo - a rare occasion when she felt well enough to be awake and a little bit playful.

Compassion toward myself has never been my strong suit. I'm someone who has been motivated to do things out of a sense of duty, obligation or guilt for much of my life. I am grateful for some close friends and confidants who have been challenging me in this area lately.

As I have been struggling with the grief process, and trying to learn how to go on with life since my daughter died, I have often been really hard on myself. One trusted friend said to me a few months ago, "Can you step back, look at yourself and have ANY compassion for yourself right now?"

That was a turning point for me, although I didn't realize it at the time. The expectations that I have set for myself based on what I assume God wants from me, and what I assume others expect from me, are at best unrealistic. At worst, they are downright harmful.

So I'm walking down a new path where I am learning to be compassionate toward myself. It is incredible how many times a day I catch myself being really harsh toward myself. And I'm working on doing just that: catching it. I am catching that thought and reconstructing it. Instead of thinking "you idiot!" when I make a mistake, thinking "I'm a human being and I make mistakes every day. It is okay."

The truth is, we all need compassion. We need to shower forgiveness on those around us, and importantly, on ourselves.

*****

On a somewhat related note, check out the new "How to Help" link at the top of this blog. If your friend or loved one is struggling with grief, this may provide some insight into the things that they will appreciate hearing at this time.

(For all my friends who read this blog, this is not me trying to give you a not-so-subtle hint! Just wanted to share with others who may be struggling to know how to support someone who is going through the loss of a precious child.)