This Mother's Day, I won't wake up next to Jeff in my cozy bed hearing the sounds of laughter coming from the kitchen as I wait for my favorite ritual, my warmish tea and burnt toast.
This year I won't go to mass to receive a sweet flower and have the special Mother's Day blessing from our priest.
There will be no brunch or champagne, no cards from my Beauties, no special flowers. However, like so many mothers throughout the country, I will wake with gratitude that I am blessed to be a mom.
Norah and I will spend this Mother's Day, just as we started her life, in a hospital. I will wake on Sunday morning by her bed, listening to the beeps from the machine that is monitoring her beautiful beating heart. We are in San Diego, at Rady Children's Hospital, 4 hours from our home in Santa Barbara. That 4 hours also separates us from her older brother and the "normal life" that continued to be mine until a few months ago when I realized my vivacious, spirited daughter was slipping away.
My daughter was admitted because of a very low resting heart rate. It was 41, her admitting physician told her she was admitted because she was at risk of a heart attack. When a doctor looks your 11 year old in the eye and says you are at risk of your heart stopping, that is a conversation I won't ever forget. In the last few months, we have struggled to understand how a text book case of a sinus infection that then turned into pneumonia; both successfully treated, I might add, could cause our girl to become so ill. It's every parent's nightmare to see your child ill and not have a diagnosis. I can share that Norah is stable, we have a diagnosis and in the coming days I will share more on her treatment.
For years, I have made jokes about ER visits for ear infections that turn south late at night or laughed with my friends who swear their child has more stitches than teeth. But each and every time they/we put our Beauty's back into the mini-van and drove them home. That is not the reality here.
I will spend my Mother's Day surrounded by doctors, nurses, therapists and alike who will spend their Mother's Day treating my baby, keeping her safe and helping us rebuild our precious Norah. I joined a sorority that I didn't want to pledge, the sisterhood of women who are raising critically ill children.
There are all kinds of moms here... When you look into the eyes of another mom, no matter the diagnosis of their child, you are seeing yourself. I'm seeing myself in the mom's holding little tiny kiddos in hospital gowns pushing kiddo wagons and cars. Little ones crying, that sound like wounded birds. Kids dragging dump trucks in one hand, while mom is pushing the IV tower, going up and down the corridor. I see mothers supporting their older children as they walk down the hall freed from their beds if only for a few minutes. This hospital holds far to many beds. Each and every room holds someone's beautiful, precious and loved child. I am one of the lucky ones. I will leave this place with my Beauty. Some may not.
On this Mother's Day, I'm thinking of them. For the rest of my life, my first thought each and every Mother's Day will be of the Mothers who have out lived their Beauties.
As I sit here early on Saturday morning, I watch my Irish Princess sleep. She had a tough night, and while I was exhausted, every few hours I would wake from my naps and look first at the monitor telling me her vitals, then I would lower my eyes and soften my gaze at my girl. I watched her sleep, I watched her chest raise and lower, and I told myself she was safe, and was getting stronger, and I tried my best to stop the dangerous droplets of tears that keep sneaking out. It's not that I haven't cried, or that it's not healthy. But, I need to avoid the complete meltdown of tears in front of her.
Life is humbling and the things I worry about are never the problems that come to pass. It's often something bigger, scarier and so far out of left field it stuns me. As my wise friend Alison says, "Kathryn, everyone gets their turn on the merry-go-round--and no one likes it."
Our struggles are uniquely our own; I don't know why Norah got to meet hers at 11 or that Ian was born with Asperger's, why I have to battle chronic medical foolishness. I can't answer why my plate just feels a little too full and while I look at others, I sometimes have to catch myself for being a little jealous for what I perceive as their easier life... I know it's not, the problems are just different. Perhaps all my medical foolishness with Norah's pregnancy was just the lesson plan for how to handle Norah's medical crisis. I find it sometimes hard to see the real truth when you are in the desert, it's only after some distance and time that you can see the whole picture.
I do know one thing about this PilgrimageLife, it has meaning. The Divine has placed some extraordinary people in our path, people I didn't know I needed. Today as I sit here, humbled and grateful for their immense talents, I realize that the doctors and staff have been charting a specific path to make room for my family. I don't know what the future holds, I don't know why we have to carry this, but I do know we walk with grace and purpose. We move forward knowing that we walk with more support than anyone could possibly imagine.
I feel your prayers.
I feel your tears, your worry and your frustration for us.
I know for many of you, your brunch will feel a little bitter-sweet. But know this... we are walking, we are moving forward because of each of you. Your love, friendship and your faith. My Facebook and phone blew up with messages, from people near and far, with each message filled with love.
Love for my Irish Prince and Princess, and love for Jeff and I. We are the lucky ones. We are.
As you spend your day today celebrating, I cheer for you, I have been you for nearly 14 years. This Mother's Day taught me something I will never forget. Think of the Mothers today who won't do brunch, who can't make it to mass, who won't sleep in their beds. Think of us and squeeze your babies tight and give thanks for the gift of motherhood. No matter where we greet it, we are better women because of it.
Happy Mom's Day from Rady Children's Hospital in San Diego... The best place I didn't know I needed.
The Divine in me Bows to the Divine in you. Always.
Kathryn
PilgrimageGal