The Inevitable...

I suppose it was inevitable...
I have a pretty wicked shopping addiction. Fortunately for my husband, it's the worst when I'm at thrift shops, yard sales, or resale shops. I'm also pretty practical about reusing and up-cycling (everything can be reused or sold). I haven't always been this way--okay, I've always had a serious shopping problem; it's just that until the leaner years (thanks, Mr. President), I wasn't as into the thrifts shops. I also put everything on plastic, which I'm in the process of paying off...again...
Anyways, I love to shop, but I love to sell...and I also love to give when I can. With both Hannah and Jericho, I was blessed with a considerable amount of new and used clothing. The clothing I was given has been passed along to several other new mothers, or has been upcycled at a favorite shop of mine, and traded for more secondhand clothes for my son.
Of course, Hannah didn't get to wear much; we had a huge amount of clothing that I had washed and sorted (so it couldn't be returned); I can't begin to remember all of the people we gave it to, but they all knew it was given with love, and with a broken heart. I'm glad that their little girls got to wear the ruffles and bows...and truthfully, I'm glad I never ran into anyone wearing one of Hannah's dresses. I think it would have shattered me.
With Jericho's clothes, it's been delightful to see where they've gone. One friend of mine brought her son home from the hospital in a particularly cute outfit of Jericho's. It was so cute to see our babies in the same monkey-suit! And since her baby was like, twice the size of mine, he looked even funnier in it.
As many things of Hannah's that we could reuse, we did. We had the nursery bedding packed away; she never used it, and it was a gender-neutral jungle design that Jericho loves. There were yellow onesies, white onesies, Blues outfits, some Cardinals gear--we kept what we could, within reason. I didn't get rid of the very last of her clothes until I found out Bug was a boy. We kept books, CDs, certain toys...we had hope that we'd have another baby, and I'm thankful we kept what we did.
So, it was inevitable that one day, I'd run into something of hers that I'd forgotten was hers, and that it would sucker-punch me in the gut.
And it did, 3 days ago.
Books are friends, right? And I firmly believe one should never gift a book without an inscription.
I grabbed a book for Jericho's nightly Bible time and story time, and there it was, from some dear friends and prayer warriors of ours..."For Hannah: Love, The Renauds, 2006"
I stopped breathing for a minute; tears welled up, and I couldn't help but cry...
But there was my boy,
Looking at me...
Big blue/brown eyes staring up at me quizzically...
Tiny hands touched my knees...patted my legs...
He is my now.
Even though I was sitting in what was her room, in the only piece of furniture that we kept--the rocking chair--even though the words on that page had me split-second thinking of what we missed out on---
He is my now.
I looked at him and dried my tears. I kissed his head, and said, "It's all right, Bug. This was your sisters. And now I'm going to read you the stories I didn't get to read her...but it's okay, because she's living them as we speak."
I know he doesn't understand, and I have no idea how David and I are going to approach the subject when he asks (I'm sure he will; her pictures are on the wall, and it's only a matter of time). What I do know, is that all I ever want him to know is how much we loved her, and how much we loved him; how much her tiny life changed ours forever, and how much we learned...and how faithful God is at keeping His promises, and in never wavering in His heart's desires for our lives.
The occasional sucker-punch never hurt anyone, right? Sometimes it's what it takes to remind us how far we've come...and how much the blessing right under our noses really means to us...
I love that boy.

Mother's Day & Strangers I Should Know...

Mother’s Day is always a mixture of emotions for me. It took years before I’d finally go to church on Mother’s Day; with the change to a different place of worship, this year I took the high road: I left town.  I didn’t want to deal with the confusion and awkwardness of being in a new place, with new people, who either didn’t know, or who were new to “the story.” Even in a place where I knew most people, Mother’s Day was difficult—I felt like other mothers took time away from celebrating themselves, to comfort me. Beautiful, wonderful, incredible women of God—they have carried me on their shoulders so many times. I never felt that it was fair that they would cry (over me) on a day that celebrates their motherhood.  Yet, I wanted to go to church, to be with them, and to know that they were going to help me make it through—it’s incredibly selfish of me. Either way, this year I decided that I wasn’t ready for a new place; even if I was, I didn’t want to drag anyone down. So, we went out to my parents’ house. (Yeah, that’s it! Drag Mom down!!! :) )

This past week was very difficult. Our clinic was closed, yet we still worked, so things were far too quiet. With the change in David’s schedule, I was home alone in the evenings with the ATTack Dog (she tried to murderize an AT&T salesman last week. After I got over having my arm ripped out of the socket, it was quite funny. You should have seen his face!!!), and things were again, Far. Too. Quiet.

What do you do?  Pester your friends who have families and children? Annoy your siblings who have jobs and kids and psychotic birds of prey? Talk your mom’s ear off over the phone? Shop?  It’s hard to pray when you’re frustrated with God, and even harder to worship, so I marked that one off (Just being honest). What do you lean on, when you should be standing on your own at this point?

Is there ever a point when that’s possible?

The perfect storm was capped off by one of the worst rounds of PMS that I think I’ve ever dealt with. The benefits of juicing are that your body starts to detox. Detoxing makes you cranky on its own; couple that with hormonal fluxes, and you have a real problem. Things spiral out of control, and you quickly find yourself at a whole new level of despair. When that’s wrapped up in too much quiet time, the enemy has a field day.  I think the best word to describe last week was “torment.”  That might sound pretty dramatic, but by Thursday evening, I was at my wit’s end. I really didn’t know what to do, where to go, or who to call.  Whether it’s true or not, I always feel like a complete burden when I’m dealing with this kind of stuff, and I’m sick of it. To finish it all off, the orthotics that I’m supposed to be getting, to combat the foot pain I’ve dealt with for over a year, are tied up in insurance BS; I actually yelled at an Office Manager, and I don’t think I’ve ever done that before. Considering that I know her job, and I know how hard it can be, I believe I will be apologizing at some point. Frankly, I’m still mad, so it’s not happening yet.

I called my sister, Billie, who agreed to take me out to my parents’ house on Friday instead of waiting until Saturday, so that I wouldn’t have to deal with another night by myself. Once we got together, we had a really great time of catching up, laughing like we always do, and rocking out to some Skynyrd. We got to “The Ranch,” and I promptly got busy giving my mom a mani-pedi while we snacked around and goofed off. It’s amazing, how quickly laughter can push aside despair. There’s nothing like it! J

Saturday morning, while waiting for David to arrive, Dad put Billie to work (haha!-j/k!), and Mom & I set out on a “brief” shopping adventure. Just hanging out with her, enjoying my mother, was a blessing. I feel like she gets a little robbed on Mother’s Day, because she’s worried about me. She is the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and I hope she understands how grateful I am to have her.  I really enjoyed spending time with her!  As the morning went on, the cloud that was hanging over my heart totally lifted off; by the time David arrived at the house, things were in full swing, and a lot of laughter was going on.

David—what a blessing he is!  As we pulled into the driveway, I could see something sticking out of the back of the truck…he had gotten me the most gorgeous plant that I had admired at the produce stand!  It was a complete surprise—it’s so beautiful! It became the centerpiece of our Mother’s Day pictures! Just the fact that he—well, he says he doesn’t understand, but he definitely supports—says the world to me.  He gave me a card encouraging me to keep up the faith…he knows we will be parents at some point….

It’s not necessarily Hannah’s loss that affects me this time of the year. It’s what I lost, and what I do not yet have. It’s the invasive questions, the empty place in my heart, and the unfulfilled promises…It’s having a heart’s desire that I know He gave me, that has not been made to come to pass. It’s a consuming fire, a passion to be a mother that I’ve had since I was a little girl. Being a mother is all I’ve ever wanted to be, and yet here I am…34…and what I’ve had so far was a passing opportunity. I was a mother for 34 weeks, and 29 days…I had everything I ever wanted in life, for 34 weeks and 29 days. To have it, and to have lost it, and not have it again, but to want it so desperately—that is the ache.

David has heard all of this, and what he doesn’t fully comprehend from a woman’s point of view, he gets from a father’s point of view.  He shares that heart with me, and at times like this, there is no one that lets me cry without judgment like he does. There is also no one who makes me laugh, or who grabs my hand and pulls me back up, like he does. He teaches me so much about the love of God—what a great thing, to be able to say that about my husband!!!  He gets my heart.

Things at the parents’ house were pretty typical—food, poker, BBQ, me winning everyone’s money, snacks, movies, laughing, pie, sleeping in…fun. It was exactly where we all needed to be, because we all acknowledge the blessing and the pain of Mother’s Day. Both sets of grandparents are gone now…we spent all of our time this weekend celebrating family, and that’s what they would have loved. 

And then the strangest thing happened:

My biological father showed up.

I haven’t seen him in 6 years.

I haven’t talked to him in weeks (and that was only because he was in the hospital, and I’m the contact person for medical issues).

What.

The.

Heck??!?!?

Billie and I weren’t prepared to see him. We weren’t ready to see the shaking hands…the terrible complexion…the constant blinking from dry eyes. We weren’t prepared to hear that he has 3 blocked arteries and has to wear a nitro-glycerin patch. We had no idea. 

He’d moved back to MO from FL 2 years ago, or so…he really doesn’t live that far from us. He just doesn’t call or try to get together, and he doesn’t return our calls. I care about him…there is love there. I know that he loves us to the best of his abilities, but…

I really don’t know what to think.  Billie’s word was “strange.” Mine was “uncomfortable…awkward…weird…disconcerting…odd…” I really, truly had/have no words. Of course, we embraced him; to my parents’ credit, they invited he and my aunt to have dinner with us (we happened to be sitting outside having dinner when they showed up). He and Aunt Bonnie ate dinner, looked around at pictures, and chatted for a bit; then they left, with thoughts that they might come out for Father’s Day (I’m not getting my hopes up), and that he’d try to “do better” at calling us.

He looks bad.

I know what happens next.

I’m not ready for it.

So many things I’d like to say, good and bad…If that was the last time that I will see him, did I do it right? I waved as he drove off—is that my last memory? What do you say, what do you do, when your heart tells you that’s “goodbye?”

I’ve thought that about him before, and been wrong…

It’s too soon.

All of my talk, all of my anger, all of my frustration at a man who threw us away…there is still love there. Everything says I should hate him, but I also know that he only expressed what he knew. Billie and I break the cycle—we are not the alcoholics. We are not the abusers, we are not the entitled. We are freed by a grace that he was introduced to, but rejected….why did he have to reject it? We did everything we could, to show him Jesus; will he find Him, now that he’s at the end?

This man that I have called “Daddy” for as long as I can remember…will he soften his heart, and turn toward truth?

Jesus, save my Daddy...

There are the hurts of the past, but there are also the realities of the present. The past can be let go of, but the present is what we face right now. This is where we make our impact, this is where change can happen and where prayers get legs. 
My selfish issues of Mother’s Day are quickly diminished when I see someone so broken in front of me…my heart aches for this broken man.

Mother’s Day weekend—when I said on Facebook that it was a “kaleidoscope day,” now that you’ve read this, maybe it makes sense. There really are no words to describe it. “Hope” was the word I kept getting, before it ever started….it’s the word that I’m clinging to, and not just for me.

Hope.