It is exhilarating It is exhausting It is empowering It is terrifying It is hilarious It is frustrating It gets you off of the bench It puts you on the sidelines It is being a friend It is being a foe it is a loud shout It is a soft whisper It is the pivotal moment filled with everything It is the mundane nothingness of daily routine It is uncertainty it is absolution It is trusting your gut It is seeking good counsel It is messing it all up It is getting it just right It is slowing down It is speeding up It is long days It is short years It is holding on tight It is trying to let go. . . but never all the way go It is yin. It is yang It is motherhood. ~ KM, 5/10/15
__________________
It's a blessing to be one and also to see one. I'm thankful for all of the new mercies that come with both, not just on Mother's day, but every single morning. Happy Mother's Day to all, including those without their own children but whose mother-wit and mothering instincts add to our villages of children day after day, year after year.
Shamelessly copied from my little sister JoLai's Facebook page:
This is an excerpt from an essay about a young mother of 3 small children... She was barely 24 years old, and she and her husband were done having children. Her husband had just gotten a vasectomy. They were done..... until she found out she was pregnant again.
They made the only choice that made sense to them at the time, and decided to terminate the pregnancy.
"A woman dressed in a nurse’s uniform entered the room and called off about 25 names from a list. Following individual interviews 12 of us would be selected from the group. Only twelve. … All the others were encouraged to try again next week. I watched the women as they filed out of the room, their faces full of despair, and I felt glad that I was not among them.
When my turn came, I was taken into a smaller room to be interviewed by a panel which consisted of three people— a nurse, a doctor, and a psychologist. They asked probing, personal questions. I answered. I went home and waited, anxiously wondering if I would be one of the twelve chosen. The call came that afternoon. I looked at my three children— my son, not quite four, and my daughters, a two year old toddler and a five month old baby— and thought about how special they were. I never went back."
Cheryl Cottrell Draper, thank you for not going back. Thank you for being the best mother 4 little dusty kids could have ever asked for... Thank you for your strength. Thank you for loving us unconditionally. Happy Mother's Day, Shugsie!
XOXO, Your Baby Girl
Yeah, you can say it. JoLai pretty much rules. And damn, I'm glad that my mom didn't go back that day.
You do know that I know right? I mean, you do realize that I could feel you thinking of her and wondering how this day was, don't you? Like in between the hugs and joy of your own, I could feel your fleeting thoughts about how a day like this plays out for a mother who has lost her child.
I know.
And since I know that you were thinking and praying and wondering and hoping, I want to first say thank you for that. Then I want you to know that the day was mostly beautiful. I can't call it "perfect" because, although the weather here was just that, there will never be a Mother's Day that we describe with that word as long as Deanna isn't here with us physically. But we can call it things like "wonderful" and "loving" and "genuine." And all of those are mostly beautiful adjectives if you ask me.
We all loved on Shug. We sure did. JoLai had flown in from L.A. and we all surrounded her with so much love that she couldn't help but to feel it. And yes, we did that in the literal sense, but I know for certain that many of you surrounded her, too.
And those grandkids. Oh, those grandkids! They knew what to do. They did. And they did it. They sure did. Better than any of us could.
At one point, Mom asked us to take a photograph on the porch. "Me and my kids," she said. And up until then, it had all been mostly beautiful. Everyone was mostly laughing and joking and drinking mimosas. That is, the adults were. I admit that when Shug made that request, it didn't fully register for me until we went into the house trying to grab Will to step out on the porch to join us.
First, he kind of waved his hand as if he was't in the mood for more photographs. And, like Shug does when it comes to her family photo ops, she wasn't taking no for an answer. "Get him out here," she said. And at that point, it was mostly playful. And things were still mostly beautiful.
Will came to the door and the moment I saw his eyes I knew. I knew it was too much, too soon for him. And, in case I needed confirmation, he whispered it to JoLai and me.
"I'm just not ready to do this without Deanna. I'm not."
And I looked at Mom and said, "Hey, let's do it later, okay?" But she just looked at me and didn't say anything. Then, before anyone could say or do anything else, Will reemerged out of the front door. He had changed shirts and simply said, "If this is what Mommy wants, I can do it."
Right after that, JoLai stepped closer and I wrapped my arms around him and told him, "You don't have to do this right now. We understand." JoLai nodded in agreement. And that? That did it. He dropped his head onto my shoulder and just wept and wept. And JoLai encircled her arms around him, too, and we all had a good, hard sibling cry together. Towards the end of it, Shug joined into our hug and all of us just stood there on that porch holding onto each other as tightly as we could.
And you know? It was mostly beautiful. It was.
So yeah. We surrounded Shug and each other with love today. We did. We broke bread and talked and laughed and even fell asleep on sectionals as a family.
We jumped in the air and played Wii with cousins and rolled on grass and watched our favorite funny clips from Saturday Night Live that we all had seen before but never together.
And you know?
Since I know you were wondering. . . .
. . . .and thinking of us and hoping we were okay. . . . I just wanted you to know. . .
. . .it was mostly beautiful. It was. ***
Happy Mother's Day.
Now playing for my mama and all of the mamas out there. . . .
A big part of succeeding is believing that you will.
A big part of believing you will is entrenched in how you feel about yourself.
A big part of how you feel about yourself comes from how you are taught to see yourself.
A big part of how you are taught to see yourself comes from your upbringing.
A big part of your upbringing involves the person who serves as your earliest primary caregiver.
A big part of your earliest primary care comes (quite often) from your mother.
So no matter how you slice it, a big part of you is her.
***
Today is Mother's Day. I am a forty-one year old daughter, mother, wife, physician and self-professed go-getter. I try to live my life with intention and make an effort to pay close attention to the life I've been given. That's what I'm doing today.
I have tried to do a lot of things in my life. Some things I have done successfully. Others have not worked out in my favor. But one thing I know for sure is this: Nearly everything I try or have tried to do, I've gone into it thinking I can win. I truly have. Thinking and believing that everything from rollerskating backwards to becoming a physician were things I could possibly succeed at doing.
And I've felt that way for a long time.
My mother has a lot to do with that. She told me early and often that I was smart and capable and creative and talented. She told me with her words, but more with her actions. She listened to my stories and read my little books. From as early as I could remember, she showed me how much I mattered. Through her attention and her sacrifice, she always has. She laughed at my jokes and drove me to all of those activities like Girl Scouts and Drama and any other random thing I decided to explore. To this very day she still does. . . .although my "little books" are no longer half-folded and stapled notebook paper but instead a collection of random web-based tales. My mother instilled in me--through her unwavering support--this idea that a lot of things were possible for me. So at some point, I started to believe it. I started believing I could win.
And I still do.
I now know that this is half the battle in most things. Just thinking something is attainable. This I know for sure.
And honestly? I also know that having a mom like my mom is not promised to everyone. Living to be forty one has helped me to know that part for sure, too. I know that some mothers are broken people who hated themselves so much that all their energy went into that exhausting emotion. Because anyone who has ever participated in the exercise of self-hatred knows that it can be a full time job. Leaving no time for loving or building up kids. And let me tell you, knowing that this is the case--even for some of my dearest friends and readers of this blog--I am all the more careful to be thankful for my own mother.
I am.
I've said here before that I think a parent's primary job is to love their children enough to keep anyone or anything from robbing them of their innocence before it's time. Once innocence is lost, you can't have it back. All you can do is try to rebuild. Some slug it out and figure out how to live the closest thing to a normal adult life that they can. And even those people still have drawers filled with all of those broken pieces from their childhoods--those pieces that came from broken mothers or broken caregivers.
Some others have too many broken pieces to stuff into drawers or closets. So they, too, live broken lives.
Then there are those who did have wonderful mothers but who no longer have them here. So this morning, even if they are mothers themselves, Mother's Day is bittersweet. Some part of it is spent weeping and deeply missing her in a way that is almost unbearable.
I am thinking of them, too.
Some are in between all of these. Or don't even know how to feel about their mothers. And you know? They, too, are on my mind today.
Yeah.
It would really have been fine to just write a quick love letter to my mother on this blog today. But, you see, here is the other thing I learned from her: to think about others and how they are feeling. To experience joy, yes, but to still pay attention to what is swirling around me. So, thanks to her, I can't help but do that.
Thanks to your comments and blogs and friendships and conversations, I have some ideas about who is swirling around these words today. Friends who are mothers. Friends who are grandmothers. Friends who are daughters and sons. Friends who are filled with joy. Friends who are mourning. And friends who fight every single day to put those broken pieces back together before the cycle continues.
So, yeah. I'm thinking of all of you. . . . right along with my own mother. And the mother who raised her up to be the unbroken woman she is.
And my mother would approve of that. I know she would.
***
A big part of me succeeding is believing that I will.
A big part of me believing I will is entrenched in how I feel about myself.
A big part of how I feel about myself comes from how I was taught to see myself.
A big part of how I was taught to see myself came from my upbringing.
A big part of my upbringing involves the person who served as my earliest primary caregiver.
A big part of my earliest primary care came from my mother.
So no matter how I slice it, a big part of me is her.
***
Happy Mother's Day, Tounces aka Grandma Shugsie. I'm glad it was you. Because for me to be me, it had to be you.
Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . Harry Connick, Jr. sings "It had to be you."
Awoke to a nice, quiet house. Spent a solid, uninterrupted hour on the sunroom couch reading on my e-reader-Nook-thingie which I have decided is a really cool thing to have and is decidedly more book-like than reading on an iPad. The sky is cloudless and everything is so peaceful that I feel like I am exactly inside of the book I am reading. Zen.
Only 6:45 a.m. Not a sleeper-inner so feel like I am doing exactly what I want to be doing which is exactly what you should be doing on this day if you are a mother. Speaking of which: in that moment made the executive decision that, as regular frequenters of church, Team Manning wouldn't go today in an effort to avoid the masses of irregular frequenters surely to descend upon churches near and far for one of the wholly-moly! trinity of church-going days: Christmas, Easter, and Mother's Day. Lord, forgive me.
Manning males awoke and pounced on me one at a time, including the 200+ pound one, which kind of knocked my wind out, but made me laugh. Am removed from 1962 Mississippi, the setting of my book, but decide that this place is better.
"Happy Mother's Daaaaay!!!"
Smooches abound, hugs, and even a high compliment from Zachary who said, "You look pretty even in your pj's and your glasses." He is 150% serious, which I love. I am then treated to a medley of Zachary songs that happen to be all from "School House Rock."Gnarly.
Next comes an offer to go out for a fancy brunch-breakfast that I swiftly decline, requesting a super-simple Mother's Day morning with no-frills fare. The BHE returns with McDonald's pancakes through the drive thru, a bagel from Panera for me, Dunkin Donuts coffee--all enjoyed at our kitchen table without a wait or reservation required. Laughter everywhere. Sweet phone calls and text messages coming in. Sun shining. And all of us shining, too. Feeling super special and like I am surely the best mom ever.
Table cleared. Soccer cleats located. Shin guards paired. World continues to turn. But still feeling like the best mom ever.
And then this:
Isaiah: "Hey Mom. Have you seen my Nintendo DS?"
Me: "It's in the kitchen."
Isaiah: "Oh no! I just remembered that I didn't charge it!"
Me: "Well, seeing as you have the best mom ever, your DS is fully charged, my child. See?"
Me pointing at his Nintendo DS portable game plugged into the socket. Isaiah smiling and hopping up and down like a mini-kangaroo.
Me: "Now riddle me this, you handsome little six-year-old you. . . . what has two thumbs and is the best mom ever?"
Isaiah: "Mom?"
Pointing thumbs at myself and dancing in a way that would embarrass all members of my family, and even you as a reader of this blog.
Isaiah: "Mom?"
Me: "Yes?" (still dancing)
Isaiah: "Every mom is the best mom ever. Not just you, Mom, okay? Especially if they are giving their very best effort at being a mom."
Stop my dance and look at him, sideways smiling. His face is serious and thoughtful. My heart is two pumps away from exploding.
Me: "I love you, old man."
Now know for certain that I am the best mom ever. And so are you.
***
This kid has deep thoughts, I tell you.
Happy Mother's Day to the best moms, grand-moms, play-moms, step-moms, god-moms, dad-moms, almost-moms and in-heaven moms ever.
Honestly? I write this blog to share the human aspects of medicine + teaching + work/life balance with others and myself -- and to honor the public hospital and her patients--but never at the expense of patient privacy or dignity.
Thanks for stopping by! :)
"One writes out of one thing only--one's own experience. Everything depends of how relentlessly one forces from this experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give."
~ James Baldwin (1924 - 1987)
"Do it for the story." ~ Antoinette Nguyen, MD, MPH
Details, names, time frames, etc. are always changed to protect anonymity. This may or may not be an amalgamation of true,quasi-true, or completely fictional events. But the lessons? They are always real and never, ever fictional. Got that?
