These are my in-laws.  I love them both.  Ridiculous amounts.  I always have.  I've always respected their love for each other and their family.  I've learned a lot about marriage just from watching them interact. I've learned a lot about John that way, too, let me tell ya.  He's got so many traits that he shares with his Dad that watching his mom interact with her husband has given me a few ideas how to go about interacting with John.  

:)

Anyway, given the incredibly emotional coaster this family has been on the last few weeks, I've been dying to see them and just hug them close.  Natural circumstances prevented this, but when we DID finally see each other, I was so happy to just physically hug them.  However, Dad wasn't too keen on any sort of emotional exchange.  He was probably too drained from grieving Uncle Billy and worrying over his mother's rapidly declining health.  Also, given his status as the leader of the family, he took upon himself the responsibility of shouldering the fear and anxiety of his brothers and sister.  

Oh, how my heart breaks for him.  He always takes on so much responsibility.  But again, it's something I deeply respect him for.  He goes out of his way to make things easier for his family, but at such personal sacrifice.  

However, he doesn't like to let on that his strength wavers, too.  Instead of reaching out, he'll vent in short, off-the-cuff ways.  I want so much to help him, but I can't just say, "Dad, I love you.  Punch the wall and yell at me if it'll make you feel better."

I'd love to, mind you, but I can't.  He'd never let on that he's hurting, and I would never make things worse by letting on that I know.  

But I still want to support him.  So I'm supporting him the best way I know how - through his wife, my mother-in-law.

In the car on the way back from Uncle Billy's funeral, my FIL had to make a tough decision. My MIL said something that I pray will stick with me until my final days.  

My FIL had to decide if he'd go away for a few days on business or if he'd stay behind in case Nanny passed away.  He asked my MIL what she thought, and her response was beautiful.  She basically said she would go wherever he decided because no matter what, she wanted to be with HIM when and if he got news about Nanny.  

It was then that I realized I could support him by supporting her.  She was, is and always will be, his rock.  They are incredibly blessed to have found one another.

She knows her place is with him so that she can support him in any way that she can.  She wants to be there, holding his hand, letting him cry, even letting him get mad at her so he could, in some tiny way, vent the torrent of emotion eating away at his heart.

I actually teared up when she said that.  It was so loving... so perfect... that is what I want my response to be to John always.  Whatever you decide, I will stand by you.  I will be with you because that is where I need to be.  I want you to know that you will always have me to lean on. 

Such love.  Such incredible, faithful love.  

So I made it my personal mission to support him by supporting her.  Since she'll be bearing the weight of the world in conjunction with him, I can lend my assistance to her.  I might not be able to reach my FIL the way I'd like, but I can reach my MIL, and if she's a little less stressed and a little more rested, she can be a better support for him.

I love these two immensely.  I really do.  I wish I could do something to magically wave a wand and make life perfect again, but we all must endure this valley of tears.  Thankfully, God gifted us families so we could walk this valley together and not alone.  

"Turn then, oh Most Gracious Advocate, thine eyes of Mercy towards us, and after this, our Exile, show unto us the Blessed Fruit of thy womb, Jesus."

Please keep them in your prayers.  Nanny, too.  

<3

Last night, John and I were watching the latest episode of HIMYM (again, if you don’t want spoilers, STOP READING THIS).  I’ve always loved the characters of Marshall and Lily.  For those of you who don’t know the show, Marshall and Lily are college sweethearts who consistently exemplify unconditional and sacrificial love.  They really are the perfect example of what marriage should look like, and I love that the writers have always been dedicated to the success of that relationship.  

I’ve always related to Lily’s character.  She is a strong woman with very maternal instincts. She loves her husband deeply, adores children, is brutally honest when necessary, and is fiercely loyal to her friends.  She's even a teacher!  Lily is me with red hair and a much hotter body.  
 
Anyway, in last night’s episode, we come to find out that Lily has been harboring a secret.  I immediately said to John, “She’s pregnant!”

Turns out I was right.  The way the writers allowed the story to unfold was beautiful. Marshall, upon learning he was going to be a Daddy again, rushed to Lily’s side and confronted her with the news.  However, he didn’t confront her angrily.  Instead, he was emotional – 120% caught up in anticipation, hope, joy, and above all, love.  Love for Lily, love for his son, and love for the new life he and Lily had created.

And when Lily said she “just felt like” the baby was a girl, I was instantly a wreck.  I chewed my lip to the point of bleeding trying to keep myself from openly sobbing in front of John, but he saw I was upset and came to sit next to me on the couch to hug me.  He probably thought I was crying over Myla.

In truth, I sorta was, but my tears were lamenting more than miscarriage.

Marshall said something that stabbed my heart.  The exchange came after a very emotional argument Marshall and Lily had regarding moving to Italy vs. staying in the States (pitting Lily’s dreams against Mashall’s dreams).  Marshall selfishly wanted to stay in the States and made the decision without ever asking Lily’s input.  Lily, rightly hurt by this, angrily demanded to know why her dreams weren’t considered as important as Marshall’s. The argument ends with Lily sacrificing her dream of Italy for the sake of the family she loves, and Marshall apologizing for allowing his selfishness to come before his love for her.

However, upon learning that Lily is carrying their 2nd child, Marshall exclaims:

“Lily, we have to [go to Italy]!  You’re gonna live in Rome, and you’re gonna get your dream because you’re giving me mine, again.”
 
Cue tear cascade.

Lily had already given up her dream of Italy to support her husband and their (now growing) family.  That was a very, VERY difficult thing for her and she knew she’d wrestle with that baggage for the rest of her life.  But she did it.  Why?  Because she loves Marshall and their family enough to sacrifice of herself.
 
And in that instance, Marshall realized his erroneous thinking.  The whole season, he was focused solely on how he could convince Lily to make the sacrifice because his dream was, selfishly, what he wanted. 

Until news of the baby.  News of the baby's existence caused Marshall to instantly realize his priorities were skewed.  A judgeship was not his dream.  It’d be a nice goal to reach, but Marshall’s dream was, and always has been, to have a big family, the same as he’d grown up surrounded by.  Family is Marshall’s true dream, and he recognized that Lily had known (and been working towards) this all along.  Lily had always sacrificed for their shared dream of family, while Marshall simply enjoyed the fruits of that sacrifice.  

Realizing this, he took responsibility for sacrificing.  He wanted Lily to have the same opportunity to grasp her dreams because it’s what she’d always done for him.  He loved her and their family to the point of sacrificing the biggest goal he’s ever set for himself: judgeship.  He pushed his fear of leaving New York aside and trusted that his love for his family would be sufficient to weather the journey.

They are like the married couple in O. Henry’s story The Gift of the Magi.  Lily willingly handed over her hair (Italy) and Marshall gave up his watch (the judgeship). Deep, personal sacrifices in both cases that were gift wrapped in love.

And Marshall only understood this lesson after rearranging his priorities into their proper order: Lily first, family second, self third.  What caused the paradigm shift? News of the baby and his overabundance of love and excitement.  

THAT is why my body rocked with sobs.  Marshall’s response was what I’ve always envisioned for myself as a child – my future husband being just as excited and joyous as Marshall at news of a pregnancy… my future husband seeing these children as dreams come true.  I had visions of him jumping up and down in the bathroom with me as two little pink lines surfaced from a plastic stick.

I cried because my husband was so diametrically opposed to Marshall in this.  

There was no moment of joy when he learned of Myla.  There was no realization that his priorities were misaligned.  There was no moment of clarity in which he appreciated the terrible sacrifice I make on a daily basis so his dreams can be sought after.  Instead, there was disgust, fear, annoyance and frustration.  

How that wounds my heart.  

My dream, from my very first memories, revolve solely around a family.  Myla was, in many ways, my final chance at that family.  So when I mourn for Myla, I fully understand that I’m mourning for her and all the other children I’ve been denied.  

And I was angry.  Frustrated.  Jealous.  Desperate.  All because of a television series that showcased the response I long for but will never have.  Not even with Vincent. On both counts, John’s first reaction was fear and annoyance.  Disbelief. 

Never love.  Never joy.

And that is what absolutely kills me.

I felt so unappreciated that I free-fell into an intense depression. My mind wondered if John even loved me at all.  How could someone who loves me simultaneously seem to hate me so much?

Do I think John hates me?  Of course not.  But in that moment, it felt that way. Maybe because I hated myself being in this situation.  I don't know. It's easier for me to turn the upset feelings inward rather than outward.  

Anyway, after the show finished, we watched a 30 minute comedy to lighten the mood.  It worked well enough for John to think things were okay.  I was sour, though.  The self-loathing, anger, jealousy and despair were percolating in my mind the whole time.  So instead of watching another show, I went to bed.  Not that I was going to sleep.  Lord knows I wouldn't be doing much sleeping.  But at least I could shut myself off in the dark.  

John came up after me. He grabbed me close in bed and snuggled there.  He's a snuggler.  I hate snuggling.  Loathe it.  It's okay for all of three seconds before I get annoyed and want my space back.  However, I allowed it because I knew that was his way of trying to make me feel better.  I knew he needed to feel like he was helping.  Maybe that's all he thought he could do.  After all, John responds to touch, so it makes sense why he'd think I would react the same.

Honestly, though, I wanted no parts of myself let alone any parts of him.  
I'm terrible, aren't I?

*Sigh*

Anyway (and really, Mom, if you're reading this, just go ahead and avert your eyes), I realized in that moment that I did need John.  I needed to feel loved, because there was a part of me (the logical side?) that understood he loved me, but my heart was so full of hurt and grief that I couldn't feel it.  I couldn't process that he could love me given the broken and hurting state I was in.

So I kissed John.  I wanted him to kiss me back, to give me some tangible sign that he loved me.  He dutifully kissed me, but laid back on his pillow.  I pulled his face back to mine and whispered, "No.  Make love to me."

I don't normally do that.  I'm not the romantic type who whispers sweet nothings into dusky skies as my hair whips gracefully in a gentle breeze.  But in that moment, I recognized the marital act of making love as the only balm to soothe the aching desolation in my heart.  I needed my husband to love me.  I needed him to physically, emotionally and spiritually LOVE me, and a few pecks on the cheek weren't going to cut it.  Not when I was feeling so incredibly unloved.  

That was the first time I've ever "needed" sex.  I've enjoyed sex, sure.  I've wanted sex, definitely.  But I can't remember a time in which I urgently needed to give the fullness of myself and receive the fullness of my husband in the way that only married love can do.  Sex isn't just some repetitive thrusting based solely on biology.  That we, as a people, have turned it into so base a commodity is a travesty.  Looking at sex as a means to better know and understand the love of my husband... it was eye-opening for me.  

When the pain of loss seems too great to bear, and when the grief comes coursing in to crush the very breath from your lungs, fix your eyes on the Blessed Mother as she gazes upon her Son, gasping away His Life for love of us.

Allow the tears to come.  Offer your tears together with hers... hers that shine like diamonds and are collected by the angels as tokens of mercy.  

Accept the emptiness as it threatens to swallow you.  Allow the weight of desolation to shatter your heart - your very soul - but do not despair.

For where God destroys, He creates.  These mournful remains can thus rejoice and offer themselves as ready sacrifice for the new Life that comes in their place.

"I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you." Ez. 36:26

Blessed Mother, be my strength.  I am having a really, really hard time accepting Myla's absence right now.  

That television show... it was as if I was being pinned to a surgical table to have my heart sliced open by a scalpel.

But I see, I see.  The tears wash away the clutter from my eyes, and the crushing grief just reminds me that I have something left to offer.  It is yours... the pain and tears that echo softly your own.  Tender Mother, hold her for me.  Hold her and tell her all the things that I never got the chance to say.  Allow her to be the delight of your Son since she could not be the delight of mine.  Bring her often to see her Father so that He can tell her about the Daddy she left behind.  Guide me daily with Vincent so that I can be worthy of meeting her one day.

Grief, folks.  It still exists.  Every day.  Sometimes you're granted respite.  Sometimes you're asked to experience it more keenly.  But it's always there.  

That is at it should be.  There can be no grief if there is not, first, love.  And love is forever.

And love, Myla Therese, is exactly what you were created by.

Not too often you hear the words "Lent" and "tripod" put together, but it was a concept I introduced a few weeks back to my CCD students.

So often you hear "What are you giving up for Lent?"  I wanted them to understand that this wasn't a futile repeat of New Year's resolutions.  Lent is a time for sacrifice. 

One of my favorite quotes about sacrifice is this:

Love transforms suffering into sacrifice.

According to this, two things must be present for a sacrifice:  Love and Suffering.

So for Lent, while they were all trying to figure out what they'd "give up," I asked them to also figure out a specific person or intention they'd be offering that sacrifice for.  Giving up candy bars during Lent is great, but if you're just substituting the candy bars with milkshakes, nothing is accomplished.

Instead, if you give up candy bars, use the $.60 you save every day and donate it to the homeless man you pass on the street each day.  Put it into a piggy bank and at the end of Lent, use it to buy your little sister that iPad app she's been dying to try.  Better yet, secretly use it to buy a slew of your favorite prayer cards / medals and leave them in the back of your parish church for parishioners to share!

Little things add up, and as long as they're adding up to love, they're perfect sacrifices for Lent.

With that in mind, my students started coming up with some great ideas:

• I'll sacrifice [Popular TV Show] and use that extra time to help my Mom clean the house
• I'll sacrifice gossiping in school and try really hard to befriend [a particular girl] instead
• I'll sacrifice the $1.00 I'm given for school and put it towards the Rice Bowl collection
• I'll sacrifice 1 recess per week and use that time to pray for Father ____________

These are my favorites.  It took a lot of leading, but when they finally arrived at their Lenten gifts (as I've been calling them), I think they really understood the purpose behind the practice.

Once they got this foundation set, I tied it together through Jesus.

We give up things, or sacrifice, for our community out of love.  However, we don't do that for ourselves.  We do it through Jesus.  We unite our sufferings with Jesus' Passion.  We don't sacrifice during Lent just because that's what you do during Lent.  We do it so Jesus doesn't have to suffer alone.  We share the burden with Him.  

I likened it to riding a roller coaster for the first time.  They all seemed to understand that. None of them wanted to ride a coaster by themselves the first time they went.  They were scared!  Instead, they asked a friend to come along so they could share the burden of fear.

During Lent, we consent to share the burden of suffering with Jesus.  We consent to take part in the Passion, because as the Church, we are members of His Body, and we want to follow where He, the Head, leads us.  During Lent, He is leading us to Salvation through the Cross.  

It was like a little light bulb clicked over their heads.  I started seeing them slowly understanding the concept of sharing in the Lenten journey.  Each Mass isn't a recreation of the Passion so much as a time-machine that brings us back to the Foot of the Cross, time and time again.  Lent helps us refocus on this by bringing the reality of Christ's Sacrifice into our daily lives (in a much more manageable way).  

Just as Christ suffered for love of us, we, too, must suffer for love of others, uniting those sacrifices to the Sacrifice of Christ.  

This is the Lenten Tripod analogy I used with my students, and I have to say, I'm really pleased with how well they took that lesson to hear.

Next week we'll check in to see how they're doing with their gifts.  :) 

Me: “I’m just not feeling very well.”

John:  “Why do you think you’re sick?  Did you catch Vincent’s stomach bug?”

I stopped myself from angrily retorting, No, John, I did not catch a stomach bug.  This is not a cold, this is not the flu, and it’s NOT my imagination.  This is our CHILD, and she is being unceremoniously taken away from me… from US.

Instead, I just shot him a look that shouted, C’mon, you’re not this dense, John.  To hit home the point, I said, “It’s only been a couple days, John.  I’m still bleeding, and I just don’t feel well.”

Immediately he took his hand from mine and recoiled into himself.  Here he was trying to have a fun, cute time talking about our upcoming “honeymoon” to the Bahamas, and there I go bringing up things he’d rather pretend didn’t exist. 

This is going to be a long, long road.  I just don’t know how to handle things right now.  I don’t know what to say or do, so I mostly remain silent.  For the most part, I think I’m okay.  I’m certainly sad when I think on my child, but I’m also buoyed by my faith that this child is happy and praying for us. 

That being said, I want to talk about this.  Problem is, I don’t want to talk about it with just anyone.  I want to talk to John, but John absolutely bristles at the thought.  The last time we spoke about this was Sunday night, and he was itching to be done with it throughout the brief moments we discussed things. 

In his mind, I am just wrong.  I’ve been so desperate for a child that I tricked myself into believing I was pregnant and got my period early.  All the other signs were just coping mechanisms.  In a nutshell, he closed himself off to the possibility that I was pregnant.

I’m not sure if he fully believes that or if it’s his way of coping with the possibility of a miscarriage.  He said the idea of a miss is upsetting, but he also says that since there’s no way to prove a child existed, I was probably just wrong.

I admit… I almost want to believe that because the thought is comforting.  I’m now going back and forth on whether or not I want to believe it was all in my head.  But I don’t believe it.  In the deepest part of my soul, I know I held a child. 

I’ve been yearning for children for YEARS.  Why, all of the sudden, would I start developing symptoms now?  What would have changed in the last month that would have suddenly set my psyche off balance enough to delude myself (and the physiology of my body) into believing I was pregnant… only to then suffer the heartache of losing that pregnancy within the month?

I just… no.  I don’t accept it.  I want to.  I really, REALLY want to, but the more I try to rationalize that as my situation, the more my heart revolts and says, “No.  You shall NOT ignore this gift you’ve been given.  You shall NOT forget the life you briefly held that now beckons you, through prayer, to Heaven.  This child was made through love in the Image of God.  You shall not write her off as some mistaken illusion.”

Chided by love, I’m back to square one.  I’m struggling to handle these feelings but I don’t know what to do with them.  At times, I’m perfectly calm.  I’m able to move about my day as if nothing has happened.  Other times, I need a moment to recollect myself in private… a tiny moment to remember what it is to breathe.

Roller coaster implies highs.  I don’t feel as though I have any highs.  Plateaus of “okay” might be more appropriate.  Plateaus of “okay” interspersed with dips in the road.  I don’t believe I’ve spiked down into depression, but the hurt and the sadness and the utter hopelessness of my situation does drag me down some dark alleys sometimes. 

I just keep chugging along, though.  I keep telling myself it’s normal to feel this way.  It’s normal to have bouts with these emotions throughout the day, especially given I’m still at ground zero. 

But sigh.  I just don’t know what or how to say things right now.  So I keep silent because I’d rather stay silent than cry.  I’d rather stay silent then go off on an angry tangent that only masks the guilt and feelings of failure that I have. 

Really, that’s all the anger is there for.  I’m not really angry.  I’m hurt.  Dear God, I am so, so hurt.  Sometimes I hate my heart for its ability to keep beating.  At least my lungs forget to breathe sometimes, but my heart...  What a nasty little contraption to keep on beating – thump after painful thump – when everything else within me wants to crawl into a corner and die. 

No… maybe that’s a touch dramatic.  I don’t want to die so much as leave this world to see my child.  To tell her that I love her and to let her, for even a moment, feel my fingers on her cheek. 

Cruel, cruel heart with your rhythmic taunting.  I’m grudgingly grateful that you are deaf to my soul’s plea for solace.  Keep marching, for though you don’t march for me, you march for Vincent.  Maybe that’s enough right now.  

Our Lady of Sorrows, pray for us.

Later that afternoon, my niece saw me with the baby again.  As she and Vincent were dancing around the living room, she said,

"Aunt Gina, do you want another baby?"

I smiled at her and said, "Alliya, I'd like 100 more babies."

She laughed (as did my mother-in-law) and replied, "Why did you have Vincent?"

I said, "Because I loved him so very much."

My mother-in-law was trying to answer her as well, but Alliya was pretty intent on my response.  She's a smart one!  She didn't accept my answer as good enough, so she pressed me further with:

"Then why don't you have more?"

Her innocent question was more loaded than she realized, and I fault her none for the immediate torrent of grief that coursed through me.  I pulled the newborn against me and kissed her head, once again taken hostage by my pained knowledge that the baby I held wasn't mine and likely never would be.

I soon handed the baby back to her mother so I could recollect myself in private.  I could see John sitting on the porch talking to the men and it made me slightly irritated that he never got these kinds of questions.  These were conversations for women, not men.  Besides, even if someone did ask him about children, he'd nonchalantly express his contentment with Vincent (which is fine). 

Then this weekend, we spent some time with my best friend's family.  She and her brothers have exactly the kind of relationship I always knew my kids would have with one another.  Watching Mary and her siblings play ball in the yard together was both wonderful and painful.  When I think of the children I'll never have, I can't help but feel like I'm cheating Vincent out of his siblings.  I mean, I even asked John about that - he and his siblings have a good relationship.  Didn't he think that Vincent deserved the same?

And then I worry about when we get older - will Vince be forced to care for us by himself?  Will he have no support system with which to rely when John and I die?  It's one thing to share this sorta pain with your friends - it's entirely different to share it with those who know EXACTLY the loss you feel.  Who but a sibling can share that sort of grief with you?

And then what if Vincent does grow up and decide to become a priest (I can only pray - ha!).  In addition to me not having children, I would then also be denied grandchildren.  These things are painful to me alone.  John doesn't really desire these things, so there isn't any loss for him in that regard.  And that's fair.  I can't (and wouldn't) force him into caring for something that is a non-issue.  He can't be faulted for his feelings on this subject.  Considering how bombarded we are anymore regarding children being nothing more than a hinderance to personal gratification and success, I really am unsurprised. 

He was afraid I'd resent him for his feelings, but I can't.  I understand his feelings and they are valid.  So please don't attack him for that which he has no real control over.  His feelings are just as strong (and valid) as mine.

Hiding this flood of emotion has become extremely taxing.  I don't like to bombard John with it, and I certainly never want to "out" him to his family (because no doubt there would be some head-wagging from certain corners).  I also never want to make others feel bad for sharing their joy - or even making comments that imply the children I'd bear are wanted. 

But the pain is there.  It is palpable, and I honestly think this must be what couples struggling with infertility face.  It has made me much more sensitive to my own comments regarding children and time-frames that revolve around them.  After all, I'm kind of dealing with a forced sterility. 

No, that's not fair.  It's not forced.  It took me a while, but I've recently come to understand that this is something I have willingly accepted for the benefit of my husband.