The Peace Lies in the ‘And’…

I’m really struggling here. Let me explain.

Does anyone else feel this delicate balance of accepting things as they are, being grateful for what you have, and honoring your right to mourn, grieve or feel sad for what you don’t?

Sunday, I arrived early to meet my Mom for a Mother’s Day lunch. As I sat in the mall taking in my surroundings, I was overcome with sights, sounds and feelings. I watched as many families celebrated the mothers in their lives. I witnessed many mommas, young and old, as they loved, hugged, and mothered. Smiles were exchanged, hugs given, gratitude shared.

As I sat at this table outside the restaurant, one particular family caught my eye. The grandparents were trying to calm this little guy. An infant boy. Likely, they were trying to give his momma a break so she could finish her meal. He was fussy, in the arms of another. At one point, one of the grandparents walked back into the restaurant and came out with this little boy’s mamma.

She reached out for her son, cradled him gently in her arms and began to rock. Back and forth, back and forth. She looked at him with love, ‘Shhhhh,’ she whispered, ‘Shhhhh…it’s okay…’ She bounced a little as she swayed. He was restless and whimpering. But as she swayed, back and forth, moving her hips from left to right and gently bouncing the boy in her arms, he started to settle. His wiggling slowed, his cries softer and further apart. Until his eyes rested and his body relaxed. He feel asleep, in his mother’s arms. She continued to sway a bit, while the grandparents fussed with the stroller, setting it up in a reclined position to let the child rest and provide the mother’s arms a break. After a few minutes, she gracefully bent over, gently extending her arms slowly into the seat of the stroller to lay him down.

As I sat there, tears filled my eyes. Sadness overcame me so suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere. In reality it’s actually been a slow build, this particular sadness. Growing up, I always thought my life would include a family of two or three children. I imagined a house with kids. Plural. I imagined the beauty of watching the relationship grow between siblings. The peace of knowing that once I’m gone, they’d have one another.

But sometimes…or almost always, life doesn’t turn out the way we plan in our childhoods. I have one incredibly beautiful, brilliant, generous, tender hearted son. He reaches every corner of my heart without trying. Yet, at times, it feels there is still a missing piece. I don’t mean this to say he doesn’t fill it, that he isn’t enough. Good God – I don’t mean that. And I hope I can find the words to express adequately what this feeling is. Perhaps it is that I have a heart that still feels it is has more to give? It is full. My heart is full with my son. But perhaps he fills it so, that I have more to share with another tiny human?

And maybe I’m not making any kind of sense here. But when I watched that family, saw that momma holding her child, I couldn’t help but feel like there’s another child out there waiting for me. My arms suddenly felt so empty. They longed for another child to comfort, another child to hold, another child to love.

As I write this, I feel guilt. I feel shallow and shameful. I feel like I’m not appreciating what I have. I feel like I’m not acknowledging the blessings that have been rested in these very arms. And as I write this, I know there are mommas out there who also have empty arms…some never having had a child rest in their arms at all, some who had a child rest there, but leave them early, and some who have tried, and wished and prayed, but there arms have never been filled. How dare I feel sad that I never had another?

Yet I do.

I am sad. Heavy hearted. And sometimes I feel empty. I mourn the possibility of more children. As time has passed, it has become more apparent God’s plans for me do not include a second child. This is hard for me to accept. And it is something I’ve been processing and working through for quite some time. But I dare not say it out loud for fear of hurting others that are hurting and grieving the emptiness of any child.

At least you’ve had one child, they say. At least you know what it’s like to hold your baby in your arms and raise him. Swaddle him, comfort him, brush off his scrapes and kiss his bruises.  

Yes. I know this. 

At least you’ve felt his kicking in your belly and his sweet breath on your neck. At least you’ve rocked him to sleep and read him goodnight stories. 

At least…you have him.

Yes. All this. It is all true. It is all of my world. He is all of my world. Perhaps this is why I hold on so tight.

That day, as I sat in the mall, waiting for my own mother, I wondered if she felt this same pull in her heart as she got older. Does she still? I am the only child she raised since birth.

My heart like a rubber band, pulls and stretches between my sadness and mourning that I’ll never feel another kick in my belly or the angel hair against my cheek and the guilt and shame of feeling like I’m not appreciative enough of the child I have brought into this world, the child whose kicks and angel hair I did feel.

The grace and peace lies somewhere between these two, doesn’t it? That it is human to feel, to want, to need. It is human to grieve and feel sad. But it is also human to recognize this AND feel grateful, blessed and appreciative.

The peace lies in the AND it seems.

In writing about this intensely private and personal story in my life, my hope is that it helps me work through it. It helps me find peace in it. My hope is also that by putting it out there, others will also feel less alone about feelings such as these.

And, I hope that it helps all of us realize that it is okay to feel pain, to feel loss and longing, while also feeling grateful and blessed.

Where is it written we must feel either, or? Why has this become some kind of rule or assumption that one cannot or should not feel both?

Life is a series of ‘Ands’, isn’t it? And showing up, while bringing ALL of who we are, well…that is also an ‘And’.

I hope writing this helps me heal. I realize that this longing, this hurt won’t just go away. It will continue to be a process of healing. Every day I look at my Noah and I feel blessings. I didn’t use to. Motherhood can be harried and stressful. You blink and you’ve already lost a day, or a week, or a year. But now, because of what Noah has been through, because of my own intention to listen to my feelings, share them, and own them, because of my intention to experience gratitude on a daily basis, I will heal.

I’m not sure the gratitude will eliminate the hurt. But I think it will make the load less heavy. I think it will make the sadness and longing less apparent, less at the forefront.

It isn’t something I feel everyday. But it has still been lurking in the corners, popping up when I come across baby clothes of Noah’s or when I watch a mother rock her baby to sleep in her arms.

If I’m not feeling, I’m not living fully. So I try very intently to allow myself to feel ALL those feelings, not ignore them. And then I try to move forward by practicing the gratitude for the life that I do live, for the blessings that do rest upon me.

And when I’m able to really focus on the gratitude, the sadness does subside.

And I feel more whole.