Thank you God for Everything

[Guest guest]

As this Thanksgiving, 2002, falling on November 28, approaches, my

mind wanders back.. It is a few days before Thanksgiving, 1984...

I...I LOVE YOU TOO, MOM

....I can still feel the pain of going...going...gone...when I think of

the last time I spoke to my mother days before she died. It was right

before Thanksgiving in 1984. This would be the first time I would not

come home for Thanksgiving with the family. Every year, I faithfully

drove to Wilkes-Barre to spend this holiday with them. This time I

would stay home. I don’t even remember now who called who. We

talked for awhile. Things were always a little strained ever since I

had told them about Carty.

We ended our conversation. After we said goodbyes, I put the phone

down to hang it up. I heard her say..."I love you." just before it

hit the base and turned off. My mother was not one to say that to us.

I always knew she loved me but she was not one to say it to us. I was

surprised. I almost called her back to say, "I love you, too," but I

did not. I was not used to saying it to her either. I let it go and

ignored my little urge to call her back. Two days later, she was

dead. I love you too, Mom.

II. ONCE YOU LEARN YOUR LESSONS, THE PAIN WILL STOP (Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, MD)

Life continued, marked with racism and family shunning. I chose my

path, so I lived it. Any thoughts about racism were lost in my grief

from 1993 through 1996. During that time, I lost four pregnancies. My

first loss and surgery came on my 38th birthday in late August of

1993. Some birthday present....let’s skip that and move ahead a

few years...

After that, I had to undergo surgery so many times. Or so it seemed to

me. Some were to remove miscarriages. One was to remove a dead four

month old baby girl we named Kara, which means "my heart." She was

the result of In Vitro Fertilization procedures, the second of four

of them. She was my third pregnancy loss. I remember it vividly

still.

It is the night after Thanksgiving 1995. I go to sleep tired but happy

to finally be pregnant, four months into it. This is the farthest I

have managed to get so far. Yet I am plagued by self doubt. I have

been so hounded by misery that I can not imagine ever digging out of

the hole. I want to feel optimistic, yet there is a nagging fear that

keeps assaulting my mind. I try to ignore it. Don’t look for

trouble. Enough will come your way. No need to chase it down.

I suddenly wake up as I feel a gushing of liquid between my legs. This

should not be. I get up from the bed in a panic. I feel the sheets

where I had been. They are soaked. What has happened? I go out to the

other room to find Carty. I tell him what has happened. We call the

doctor to tell us what to do, but I know in my heart that something

terrible is wrong and there is no turning back.

I try to banish this thought as we drive to the hospital. I know

enough physiology/biology to realize that it had to be that my water

had broken. This could not be good. It was not good. If the baby

survives, it will be crushed inside of you because there is no water

to surround the baby in protection. My uterus would be the vise of

deformity to this child. How could I possibly try to keep this

pregnancy? How could I let my own selfishness go so far that I would

fight to keep this baby alive inside of me, knowing that any life

that emerged would be horrific? Yet, I could not say-stop this

pregnancy. I could not do it.

In my heart I knew the decision was already made. I think I knew the

decision would be taken from me. It was not for me to make and I had

to surrender to that twisted gift of the fates. So I waited to see.

The answer came two days later, in the morning of November 28, 1995.

My little baby had died inside of me. My mother had passed on November

28, 1984. The irony of the dates did not escape me.........

When the fourth IVF was successful, I was elated. What could go wrong

now? I was floored when the doctor realized something was wrong about

10 weeks into the pregnancy. This would require another procedure as

the fetus was too far along for any other method. The biopsy revealed

some defect called trisomy13. I was 41. I was broken. I was defeated

now. I finally surrendered to God. I was a willing subject now. "I

will do what you say. I am defeated. If that is what you wanted, you

got it. I am defeated. I will embrace the soul you send me."

We were led almost immediately to Jason’s birth Mom, I'll call

her Manna, from Heaven, and she to us, through two different agency

sources. As we sat across one another the day we met, she carried

Jason in her belly, I carried my Trisomy13 nightmare in my belly,

scheduled for surgical removal the next day, something she did not

know at the time. So, death was in my belly, life was pulsating in

hers. I chose life. The life of my first son, Jason, which means

"healer." You see, my mission was not to bear children, but to adopt

them. Once I accepted this, I had a baby in my arms in a few months.

My Jason. He is the child who healed my broken heart. He is the child

who also helped to bridge a little bit of the gap between me and my

father.....

III. MANNA, FROM HEAVEN

It is a few days before Thanksgiving, 1999. I am so excited. My heart

is full, waiting for the telephone call to tell me that Jesse has

been born. I cannot sleep. I cannot stop thinking about it. I hope

everything goes OK. I hope that Manna does well. I pace, my mind full

with so many emotions. Will he be healthy? Will she change her mind?

How is she doing? I can’t wait to see him. Who am I? Am I the

brother? Am I the sister? Am I the grandmother? I am the anxious

adoptive mother.

This is her second time now. Will she be able to go through with it?

To give me yet another child of her body, born of the same father?

How can I bear to take this baby from her? Yet I cannot do anything

else. He is Jason’s brother. He is my child. My son, Jesse,

which means riches. Manna, from heaven. That is his birth mother.

That is what he is to me. Jesse...riches. The riches of Thanksgiving.

I get the call that Jesse has been born. It is November 23, 1999. I

wait to be told that I can come to see him. To bring him home. That

is Manna’s right and hers alone. I wait. She does not call. I

wonder. Has she changed her mind? I could not blame her if she does.

I bleed for her knowing that this will be the second time that she

will gift me with the child that cannot for some reason, come from my

body.

Finally, she calls and tells me to come on Thursday, Thanksgiving Day.

She will be leaving the hospital alone. I will be leaving the hospital

with my new baby. To bring Jason his brother. To enrich our family,

grace descended upon us, without us even asking for it. For some

reason, God wants Jason and Jesse to have each other.

I go to the hospital with mixed emotions. It is a bittersweet moment.

The bitter pill is the one that Manna has to swallow. She and I are

connected forever...so I feel the pill as it goes down too. Finally,

I go the room where she waits for me with Jesse. She and

Jesse’s birth father are there. As I walk into the room, I see

Jesse in the bassinet. I stifle my little cry of joy, wanting to pick

him up, but not daring to do so just yet. I look into Manna’s

eyes and I am lost in her grief. There is the pain of a lifetime

etched into her face. The first time, she did not quite know what she

was getting into. This time, she does. She knows just how much pain

lies ahead for her. So do I.. But I will not cry in front of her. I

must be strong, for her.

We talk briefly, awkwardly. I am of the impression that they will say

good bye to Jesse and then place him with me. I leave the room and

wait to be called. I am called. I go to yet another room. Now I am

crying. The nurse takes me in. Manna is gone now. She has left. She

could not bring herself to place Jesse in my arm herself. Oh, how I

understand. I feel such gratitude and blessings. I also feel such

grief and pain for her loss, my gain.

I drive home, knowing that Jason and Carty wait for me. We had decided

not to bring Jason to the hospital because I felt it would be too much

for Manna from Heaven to bear. I walk up the front steps with Jesse in

his little car seat. I set him on the porch right in front of the door

and knock at the door. The door opens. There is Jason...jumping up and

down...calling...Jesse is here...Jesse is here...he lets me in and

sees his brother for the first time, two little boys blessed by God.

So, on this Thanksgiving Day, three years later, I would like to say

this to all, sent to me on a placemat Jesse made for Thanksgiving in

school :-)

Thank you for the world so sweet

Thank you for the food we eat

Thank you for the birds that sing

Thank you God for Everything.

And, to quote the Woman Zen Master Sono, who advised every one who

came to her to adopt an affirmation to be said many times a day,

under All conditions. The affirmation was, "Thank you for

everything. I have no complaint whatsoever."

 

Love,

 

Joyce