Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Here's to Happier Mother's Days

I am writing this now because I will be in Utah on Sunday and will be too caught up with family and friends to share these feelings. Thank goodness!

Sunday marks the 5th Mother's Day we've been married, the 4th one that we've wanted to celebrate with children, and the 1st one that we have been hoping to adopt. Last year this holiday hurt like it hadn't before, and it's not even Sunday yet and I am starting to get emotional. My guess: I'm just really wanting to have kids to mother.

Nicholas and I keep a "blessing book." We write in it practically every night, and on May 10th of last year, Mother's Day, this is what I wrote (I would like to remind you that we had very much just moved into the ward):
At church today Nicholas helped in the primary and left me by myself in Sunday School. I was a little scared and uncomfortable throughout the class, but not a big deal. Just before Relief Society a nice lady started asking me who I was and where I was from. She also asked if I was a little homesick, and for some reason or another at that I just got very emotional and started crying. It was a little overcast today, so between that reminding me of Oregon, feeling a bit alone in the ward, and it being Mother's Day with no children yet--I guess I just didn't see it coming. I was still crying when Relief Society started, and I felt so embarrassed, I could not pull myself together. One of the counselors in the presidency came and sat by me after opening exercises and gave me some tissues and a side hug. After that I was still a little teary eyed, but composed enough to make a comment, which made me feel more apart of the ward. I am so grateful for her concern for me, a practical stranger, because she made that last hour in church bearable. Nicholas made me french toast this morning for Mother's Day; what a sweetheart he is!
A couple notes: I was so homesick for my family, Oregon, anyone who had known me longer than 2 hours, my children, and my Heavenly Father. I wanted to go home, to anywhere/anyone that I could attribute that title, so incredibly much! That's how infertility feels, I think. It feels like this aching homesickness. The best cure for that aching is service. My comment in Relief Society and how I felt afterwords taught me that.

Today I started thinking about how much I wish our children could have Nicholas', and his father's, genuine smile. I thought how much I wish they could have my crazy cowlicked hair. I thought how much I miss them.  

It's like loving someone so much and feeling like you would search for them anywhere if you only knew where to look. I imagine it's a similar feeling when a parent loses a child. My little sister wandered off in a campsite once and I remember how scared my mom was, how worried she felt. I couldn't understand why. Somehow, now I do.

Trust me, I would much rather post something that makes you laugh, but I feel like I should share that some days/hours are harder than others. And that I do miss my children, that I know they belong here with me, I just don't know when or how they're coming.

It reminds me of the song Lead Kindly Light, one of my favorites. Here are a couple lines that apply:

"The night is dark and I am far from home
Lead thou me on
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene, one step enough for me...
I loved to choose and see my path, but now
Lead Thou me on...
So long thy power hath blest me sure it still
Will lead me on...
The night is gone
And with the morn, those angel faces smile.
Which I have loved, long since and lost a while."

I also thought about this today: as much as I love Nick's smile and my crazy hair, I know that our child's smile and hair (or lack thereof, depending on the baby) is going to make my heart feel like it's pounding right out of my chest every time I see them. Picturing something you've never seen before is tricky, but that feeling in my heart when I think about rough housing with our little boys and having "tea" parties with our little girls is absolutely unmistakable. I know it will happen, I just need to be patient. I'd wait forever for our beautiful little angels.

So, here's to happier Mother's Days, when Nicholas isn't the only one making me French Toast for breakfast!


Rob & Kristi Nelson said...

Oh Rachel! I am so happy you are coming this weekend!

I feel like evertime you come we never get to talk or see each other. Life is so busy.

Keep smiling!

Nicole said...

Rachel, vulnerability is such a beautiful and honest trait. Life is always fun and jokes so thank you for keeping things honest and real. I love reading your post, good, bad, funny, sad... What ever they are! I have never been in your exact boat, but do know the ache you speak of and I am confident that God will bless you with children. Hang in there and know that I will be thinking about you this Mother's Day!

Lauren Davison said...

Not this past mother's day, but the one before, I had miscarried about a week previous, so I can definitely relate to the unbearable aching. Pretty sure I wanted to take the plant they gave all the sisters in sacrament meeting and throw it on the floor, stomp it into little pieces, and then spit in it.

Oh hey--I just remembered something. I remember thinking at one point throughout all of my miscarriages about how Christ has felt all of our sorrows. It hit me then that he has felt that ache of infertility, or the pain of the loss after a miscarriage. Kind of crazy, considering he is a man, but I know it's true, and I remember that helped me feel better and even smile a bit because it was kind of a funny thought. He is the only man who can ever truly relate to us women who struggle having children!

That's all. I'm a weirdie. But I love you and I'm sad that I won't get to see you in Utah! I hope your trip is fabulous, even if it is over Mother's day. LOVE!