Every May, I have to pay about $175 to keep this blog active. And every May, for as little sense as it makes, I shell out the money. I’ve posted once in the last year, but I can’t let it go. And as unrelated as the two may seem, the one day a year I always post on my infertility blog is the anniversary of my mother’s death.
I’ve been thinking about why, and my guess is that it’s because they are two things that define me, two things that I don’t want to exist only in the past.
I am now pregnant with my third child, thanks be to God. But I don’t want to forget the pain of infertility, the deep desire in my soul to be a mother, the crushing devastation of loss and the fear that it might never happen. I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten it, because I’m sure I never will. I will always be an infertility survivor – a proud one, with a good story. (Seriously, when this baby is born, I will say that I’ve had 3 children in 4.5 years. Is that even mathematically possible? My cup runneth over…)
And today. Today marks 15 years since my life forever changed in a moment, and I became someone who walks this Earth without her mother. It’s another piece of me, the magnitude of which has not diminished with the passing of time. Similarly, I’ve grown and made my life into something that makes me proud and brings me peace. But having a place in the world is not the same as having a mother.
The closest thing, I guess, to having a mother is having a child. Unconditional, unbreakable, abiding love. The miracle of having shared one body. Feeling an invisible emotional and physical tether to the other, such that their presence or absence, their joy or their pain, is part of you. Knowing that you exist because of them, or they because of you. Maybe that is why these two are connected. My greatest loss and my greatest love. From where my heart began, and where it continues.
I wish the two could meet. I wish I could see my children in my mother’s arms. What a circle that would be. But for now (til we unite in Heaven), I will be the link. And this will be my story.