What does summer mean to you? To me it's sun, and sea, and bar-b-ques and lightening bugs and camping trips and the lake, garden vegetables and sweet strawberries. It's an island in the middle of St. Mary's lake that my Dad used to take us to every weekend in the summers of my childhood. Where Mom had a cooler packed, and Dad grilled us hot dogs and himself a steak. My family on a pontoon boat, them fishing, me laying on the cushions reading, because I hated to fish, with the hot sun beating down on my back. The smell of sunscreen being rubbed on my shoulders. It's late nights running the neighborhood with my friends. It's cool sheets, and a breeze. It's sleeping on my grandma's porch in florida, listening to the croaking of frogs and crickets and other night noises. And later it's my kids running around outside til they couldn't see each other, but never wanting to come in. It's watching the ocean waves knock them over, them coming up sputtering and laughing. It's Disney World, Kings Island or Universal Studios. It's mosquito bites, sunburns and poison ivy, but it's mostly always good. Is it any wonder that summer is longed for and missed when gone?
It's a time of freedom and joy. Vacations, long weekends, fireworks. It's laughter. It's sweaty bodies cooled off in the pool. It's slumber parties and tents in the back yard. It's swaying on my swing. It's popsicles and Dairy Queen runs.
It's my favorite season of all.
Twenty eight years ago it was the birth of our firstborn. A lovely sunny day. I was hot and swollen, but the day was the most special day I'd ever experienced. A beautiful sweet tiny baby boy, born with a smile on his precious face.
Two years ago it was the wedding of our daughter, started off raining, but turned into a magnificent sunny day. A joyful day.
Summer to me also means love. First love, a mother's love. An old love, a strong love. I didn't meet my husband in the summer, I met him smack dab in the middle of winter, but that first summer with him was our turning point, when we knew this was it. Me & You baby. Forever. It was sitting on my parent's front porch dreaming of our future. Talking about what our lives were going to be like. Twenty nine years later we still sit outside and talk about what our lives are going to be like. More of the same we say, more love, more children, more happiness. I pray. I hope. I dream.
That's the thing about summer, it makes all things possible. The gray of winter has passed. The promise of good things to come. This poem always comes to my mind:
God hath not promised skies always blue,
Flower-strewn pathways all our lives through;
God hath not promised sun without rain,
Joy without sorrow, peace without pain.
But God hath promised strength for the day,
Rest for the labor, light for the way,
Grace for the trials, help from above,
Unfailing sympathy, undying love.
We can't always have summer, but we can always look forward to it and know that eventually it will come. And even in the harsher seasons of our lives, God has gave us this, his promises of help and love.
May this be your summer to experience the bounties of his love.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Saturday, June 9, 2012
What If .....
A year ago our daughter Jenna got pregnant. We found out in July. I remember that day so clearly. It was 5:30 in the morning, she called her dad to tell him and said "I can't get a hold of Mom!" He said, "It's 5:30 in the morning Jenna." but she then called my cell phone and groggily I answer, "You're going to be a grandma Mom!" I was wide awake then, joy bubbling up inside me like I'd never known. Of course, I cried, and then I proceeded to call or text everyone I knew. I was so overcome with excitement that I carried my phone into the bathroom with me and promptly dropped it in the toilet, I then had to resort to the home phone. I was overcome with immediate love for this new child.
I have a friend who is now expecting her first grandchild soon. She reminds me of me. On facebook every post is about her excitement, every thing she buys the new baby she posts a new picture of, every ultra sound, every thought. You can feel the love she has for this child and she's not even here yet. I want to caution her, WAIT - Slow down, I think What if there's complications? What if something happens to the child? What if God forbid, she dies?
What if I hadn't been so excited? What if I hadn't posted every little thought? What if I hadn't posted a new picture of Jenna each week charting her growth? What if we hadn't all been there to hear every heartbeat? What if we hadn't had that gender reveal party? What if I hadn't been there that entire tough weekend, to lay on a lumpy cot and hear the monitoring of David's heart? Or hold my daughters hand when they said, we have to deliver? What if I hadn't been there the morning he was born? Or saw him for the first time? What if I hadn't got to sing to him? What if I hadn't got to kiss him? Hold him? What if we hadn't had six days? Would the devestation had been any easier when we lost him?
I was talking to my doctor the other day and I said to her, "The next time Jenna gets pregnant I'm going to be more subdued. I'm not going to make such a big deal out of everything." She looked at me and shook her head. "No you're not, because that's who you are."
It stopped me in my tracks and I realized she was right. That is who I am. We had six months and six days of wonderful memories of David. Before he was born we loved him. And we will love him forever.
I want to say to my friend, keep doing what you're doing. You can't live worried about What if's because What if doesn't mean a thing. We have the day in which we live, make the most of it. We did with David. We will with any other grandchildren the Lord blesses us with.
And one day in heaven I believe David is going to look at me and say "Man that gender reveal party sure was fun MawMaw."
I have a friend who is now expecting her first grandchild soon. She reminds me of me. On facebook every post is about her excitement, every thing she buys the new baby she posts a new picture of, every ultra sound, every thought. You can feel the love she has for this child and she's not even here yet. I want to caution her, WAIT - Slow down, I think What if there's complications? What if something happens to the child? What if God forbid, she dies?
What if I hadn't been so excited? What if I hadn't posted every little thought? What if I hadn't posted a new picture of Jenna each week charting her growth? What if we hadn't all been there to hear every heartbeat? What if we hadn't had that gender reveal party? What if I hadn't been there that entire tough weekend, to lay on a lumpy cot and hear the monitoring of David's heart? Or hold my daughters hand when they said, we have to deliver? What if I hadn't been there the morning he was born? Or saw him for the first time? What if I hadn't got to sing to him? What if I hadn't got to kiss him? Hold him? What if we hadn't had six days? Would the devestation had been any easier when we lost him?
I was talking to my doctor the other day and I said to her, "The next time Jenna gets pregnant I'm going to be more subdued. I'm not going to make such a big deal out of everything." She looked at me and shook her head. "No you're not, because that's who you are."
It stopped me in my tracks and I realized she was right. That is who I am. We had six months and six days of wonderful memories of David. Before he was born we loved him. And we will love him forever.
I want to say to my friend, keep doing what you're doing. You can't live worried about What if's because What if doesn't mean a thing. We have the day in which we live, make the most of it. We did with David. We will with any other grandchildren the Lord blesses us with.
And one day in heaven I believe David is going to look at me and say "Man that gender reveal party sure was fun MawMaw."
Friday, April 27, 2012
Quality Time
Question for today is What is your Love Language?
If you don't know, go here and take the quiz.http://www.5lovelanguages.com/assessments/love/
Did you read the Gary Chapman book when it came out in 1992? I never did, so I just now took the assessment to find my love language, and it's Quality Time.
I could have told you that. :) Well I guess I am. I love spending time with my husband, doing something, or not doing something, more than him giving me Gifts, more than him helping me (which I do appreciate also) more then his affirmation that I'm wonderful (which I am a fan of also). I just like being with him. Sitting beside him on a long car trip. Browsing the mall with him by my side. Eating dinner out, just me and him.
He's a pretty cool guy, Earl. Plus he's my best friend. He knows me the way no one else does, and he still likes me. And I can be a crank,and he lets it slide, because he knows I'll be ok in a minute. I can explode all my frustration on him about things, and he always says something stupid to make me laugh and forget why I was frustrated. He knows me.
That's the best feeling in the world. Having someone truly know you, and Love you anyway.
That's the way God is, he knows us, knows every thought, the reason behind every thought, and loves us anyway. Have you spent quality time with God today? He wants that time too.
Be blessed on this beautiful April Day.
If you don't know, go here and take the quiz.http://www.5lovelanguages.com/assessments/love/
Did you read the Gary Chapman book when it came out in 1992? I never did, so I just now took the assessment to find my love language, and it's Quality Time.
I could have told you that. :) Well I guess I am. I love spending time with my husband, doing something, or not doing something, more than him giving me Gifts, more than him helping me (which I do appreciate also) more then his affirmation that I'm wonderful (which I am a fan of also). I just like being with him. Sitting beside him on a long car trip. Browsing the mall with him by my side. Eating dinner out, just me and him.
He's a pretty cool guy, Earl. Plus he's my best friend. He knows me the way no one else does, and he still likes me. And I can be a crank,and he lets it slide, because he knows I'll be ok in a minute. I can explode all my frustration on him about things, and he always says something stupid to make me laugh and forget why I was frustrated. He knows me.
That's the best feeling in the world. Having someone truly know you, and Love you anyway.
That's the way God is, he knows us, knows every thought, the reason behind every thought, and loves us anyway. Have you spent quality time with God today? He wants that time too.
Be blessed on this beautiful April Day.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Mommie Dearest
“Any child can tell you that the sole purpose of a middle name is so he can tell when he’s in trouble.” - Dennis Fakes
I was reading a blog written by a young mother who was with her three year old at JFK airport in New York and he was having a melt down, wouldn't listen, and so she spoke angrily to him in Hebrew thinking she was safe, that no one would understand her, until she met a friend of a friend at the baggage claim who asked if her son was ok now. It was a funny post. We have all had those Mommie Dearest moments when we briefly think of breaking out the coat hangers, even if we think we are going to be a mother who is reasonable at all times. A perfectly calm mother is a myth, or she's never had screaming toddlers in public. I remember several incidents from my kids childhoods.
My kids were perfect angels, all the time and I was the perfect calm mother. That's how I choose to remember it. But that is not an accurate portrayal. One such incident took place in church, and of course it involved, me, no coffee, no breakfast and one rambunctious little boy named Justin. It was a Sunday morning, and it was a special service. A baptism, a baby dedication, and no children's church. We were running late as normal that Sunday, so I only had time for the kids to scarf down some breakfast, get them dressed and rushed out the door. Earl was ushering so it was me and the kids in the pew, and the service dragged on. Justin was about four, and not liking having to sit still, so he started poking his sister. I moved him on the other side of me, he started kicking his feet against the pew hard, loudly. I touched his leg, but he resisted, so I was pushing his legs down with one hand, and he thought it was a game, so he pushed harder til he kicked the seat in front of him. "Stop it Justin." I bit through my clenched teeth. He tried to slide out of the pew, by now I was sweating from the effort to keep him in the pew and quiet. The service was meandering on, mostly quiet as our Pastor spoke about the scriptures and what dedicating a baby meant. Justin turned around in his pew and got on his knees and said hi to the people behind us. "Turn around Justin." He flopped back down in the pew, sighing, and then started head butting me in my arm. "Justin Lance." Still whispering furiously I tried to straighten him back up. I looked behind me trying to find his Dad, who was watching the service and not looking in my direction at all, probably on purpose. "That family, no I don't know them." Jamie tried to help, leaned over said to his brother, "You will get to see a baptism soon Justin. After the baby dedication. One day you will get baptised." "I DON'T EVER WANT TO BE BAPTISED!" Loud, heads turning. I pulled him onto my lap and he brought his head back hard against my mouth, making me see stars. That was it I had enough. I got up, carrying him, tripping over peoples feet trying to make it out the door without making a bigger scene. No such luck, he made his body limp, almost sliding out of my arms, so I had to drag him, all the while he's screaming "DON'T HIT ME MOMMY, DON'T HIT ME!!! I DON'T WANT A WHIPPING!" I heard a few chuckles, and the pastor from the altar saying "I don't think someone is going to spare the rod today."
I made it out the door and into the women's restroom, where Justin finally stopped screaming. He knew he was in trouble now, but I was almost in tears. My lip was busted, and I was so angry I didn't want to spank him. I sat down on the toilet and put my head in my hands. "What's wrong Mommy?" He asked me. "I just want you to act right in church Justin. It's only for a little while." "It's boring. I want to go to children's church." "Sometimes we have to act right, even when we don't want to. That's what God would want." "God wants me to go to children's church." "There is no children's church this morning Justin!" "Then I want to go home."I looked at this little boy, who was such a cute thing, and I stopped being mad. He was bored. So I resorted to the age old remedy, bribery. "If you're good I will take you to Mcdonald's after church." His face lit up. "But only if you're good." He was thinking about it. He cocked his head at me. "How long do I have to be good?"
Justin didn't get Mcdonalds that day. And I learned a lesson, take him to the nursery and let him play when there was no children's church.
Guess which one is Justin. :)
I was reading a blog written by a young mother who was with her three year old at JFK airport in New York and he was having a melt down, wouldn't listen, and so she spoke angrily to him in Hebrew thinking she was safe, that no one would understand her, until she met a friend of a friend at the baggage claim who asked if her son was ok now. It was a funny post. We have all had those Mommie Dearest moments when we briefly think of breaking out the coat hangers, even if we think we are going to be a mother who is reasonable at all times. A perfectly calm mother is a myth, or she's never had screaming toddlers in public. I remember several incidents from my kids childhoods.
My kids were perfect angels, all the time and I was the perfect calm mother. That's how I choose to remember it. But that is not an accurate portrayal. One such incident took place in church, and of course it involved, me, no coffee, no breakfast and one rambunctious little boy named Justin. It was a Sunday morning, and it was a special service. A baptism, a baby dedication, and no children's church. We were running late as normal that Sunday, so I only had time for the kids to scarf down some breakfast, get them dressed and rushed out the door. Earl was ushering so it was me and the kids in the pew, and the service dragged on. Justin was about four, and not liking having to sit still, so he started poking his sister. I moved him on the other side of me, he started kicking his feet against the pew hard, loudly. I touched his leg, but he resisted, so I was pushing his legs down with one hand, and he thought it was a game, so he pushed harder til he kicked the seat in front of him. "Stop it Justin." I bit through my clenched teeth. He tried to slide out of the pew, by now I was sweating from the effort to keep him in the pew and quiet. The service was meandering on, mostly quiet as our Pastor spoke about the scriptures and what dedicating a baby meant. Justin turned around in his pew and got on his knees and said hi to the people behind us. "Turn around Justin." He flopped back down in the pew, sighing, and then started head butting me in my arm. "Justin Lance." Still whispering furiously I tried to straighten him back up. I looked behind me trying to find his Dad, who was watching the service and not looking in my direction at all, probably on purpose. "That family, no I don't know them." Jamie tried to help, leaned over said to his brother, "You will get to see a baptism soon Justin. After the baby dedication. One day you will get baptised." "I DON'T EVER WANT TO BE BAPTISED!" Loud, heads turning. I pulled him onto my lap and he brought his head back hard against my mouth, making me see stars. That was it I had enough. I got up, carrying him, tripping over peoples feet trying to make it out the door without making a bigger scene. No such luck, he made his body limp, almost sliding out of my arms, so I had to drag him, all the while he's screaming "DON'T HIT ME MOMMY, DON'T HIT ME!!! I DON'T WANT A WHIPPING!" I heard a few chuckles, and the pastor from the altar saying "I don't think someone is going to spare the rod today."
I made it out the door and into the women's restroom, where Justin finally stopped screaming. He knew he was in trouble now, but I was almost in tears. My lip was busted, and I was so angry I didn't want to spank him. I sat down on the toilet and put my head in my hands. "What's wrong Mommy?" He asked me. "I just want you to act right in church Justin. It's only for a little while." "It's boring. I want to go to children's church." "Sometimes we have to act right, even when we don't want to. That's what God would want." "God wants me to go to children's church." "There is no children's church this morning Justin!" "Then I want to go home."I looked at this little boy, who was such a cute thing, and I stopped being mad. He was bored. So I resorted to the age old remedy, bribery. "If you're good I will take you to Mcdonald's after church." His face lit up. "But only if you're good." He was thinking about it. He cocked his head at me. "How long do I have to be good?"
Justin didn't get Mcdonalds that day. And I learned a lesson, take him to the nursery and let him play when there was no children's church.
A Futuristic Dream
Do you enjoy my 30 day topics? As I write these out, are you thinking about the questions and how they pertains to your life? Have you started writing out your thoughts? If you are, drop me a comment. I would love to hear input. Today's topic is:
Where do you see yourself in 5 years, 10 years, 15 years?
Five years, I will be 52 years old. That sounds ancient. I actually already think I sound ancient at 47. When did that happen? Where did my years go? I have the scars on my body, and the memories in my head, but sometimes I think I'm still that 16 year old, rebellious, and snotty. I remember thinking at 16 how old 30 sounded, then it came and went. Nevermind 40. But I'm getting off topic. In five years with the way things are proceeding with Shelby, my youngest son Justin will probably be married, or getting married. That will be a tear filled day, a joyful, happy, but sad day. My baby married. Hopefully Justin will have a good teaching job, James and Gifty will have started their church, and Jenna and Ben will be in a lot less pain than they are in now. Ben will have started his Evangelist Ministry and Jenna will have her degree in Children's counseling, and hopefully be working with her calling. And I'm hoping a grandbaby or two will be spending their weekends with MawMaw and Pappy.
In ten years Earl and I will be 57. I hope we are looking for vacation homes in Florida. That Earl has his dream job as a Manager, and is satisfied with his work. And that our house is full of grandchildren, laughing and being loved on.
In fifteen years we will be 62. Ugh. Hoping to be on the edge of retirement, spending winters in Florida, taking our kids and grandkids with us. I think eleven grandchildren, because the total then would be 12 (precious David) and twelve is a good number. :) I hope my children are happy and fulfilling their life dreams, and their callings, and that I am trusting the Lord and feeling as blessed as I do now.
And I hope our country is out of debt, that we are on the right track again, with prayer back in schools and God is the God of our country like he was meant to be all along.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Remembering
Today's topic, "Describe 3 significant memories from your childhood."
1. My brother was a boy, typical, destructive. He liked to take things apart, and most of those things were my toys. I had this doll, my Grandmother had found in her shop- a thrift store. It was old, with a hard body, and glass eyes that rolled. It was my favorite. I carried her around with me all the time, so I'm not even sure how he got a hold of it, but he pushed her eyes in until they were crossed, and nothing we could do would fix it. I remember crying for a very long time. I'm sure he said he was sorry, I'm sure he tried to fix it. I just don't remember that, I remember crying over my doll.
2. We were about 8, we came home from school and two bicycles were sitting in the front yard. They looked big, they were shiny. Mom said Dad had dropped them off during his break from work. They were for me and Keith. My brother hopped on and off he went. I hopped on and sat. My neighbors and my brother kept saying "Come on Diane. We will teach you to ride." So they tried, and I fell off. I tried again and scraped my knees and my elbows. I walked the bike home and parked it. I went to my room and refused to come out. My knees and elbows hurt. I was playing with my barbies when my Dad got home. I remember him kneeling down beside me, "Do you like your bike Diane?" "Nope." I declared. He picked up a barbie doll and walked it across the floor all the while talking to me about how I could learn to ride, it wouldn't be hard, that he was right there, wouldn't let me fall. It took him a while, but finally I remember I sighed. "Want to try again baby girl?" I looked at my Dad, who I trusted, and was a lot bigger than my friends and my brother. "You won't let me fall?" He smiled, he had me worn down. "I promise." He said. So I nodded and my Dad taught me to ride my bike. He never let me fall, ever.
3. You know how in elementary school there is that one girl who you just want to be friends with more than anything? The popular girl, she's either pretty, or smart or wore the nicest clothes? Well in my school it was Heidi. She had big blue eyes, and the straightest hair that was shiny. My hair was so thick it was always a mess. Even when Mom put my hair in braids, by the end of the day it had crawled out of the braids and swirled around my face. I was unkempt. :) I envied Heidi her hair, and her pretty non wrinkled clothes. I had nice clothes, just wrinkled because I was never still, or dirty because I was sliding across the gravel on the play ground playing ball with the boys. Heidi had two very close friends, and at recess they walked around the playground, but never played. Every once in a while they allowed me on the fringe of their group, so I considered her my friend. They all three had pierced ears. I wanted pierced ears. Mom and Dad had told me that by the end of sixth grade if I had straight A's they would allow it. So I begged them to let me get it done the weekend before the end of school so I could show my friends. And they did. I went to school on Monday with my hair pulled up. I remember the crisp air that morning as I stood beside Heidi's group on the playground and twisted my head back and forth, bringing my hand up to my ears constantly. I remember smiling because I was so thrilled to have earrings. I kept waiting for them to notice, to say something like oh how pretty, are those your birthstones? Finally one of the girls looked at me and said "What is wrong with you Diane?" Heidi snorted. "She wants you to notice her earrings. We know, you got your ears pierced! Whoopie!" and they laughed and went inside, leaving me standing there, feeling stupid. I realized then that she wasn't my friend. I wanted to cry. But my neighbor Cindy, who was a year behind me in school found me that morning as I stood there, and put her arm around me. "I like your new earrings. Let's go climb the monkey bars." That was a true friend, compliment and distract. I never talked to Heidi again. Of course we moved away that summer, I'm sure she really missed me. :)
1. My brother was a boy, typical, destructive. He liked to take things apart, and most of those things were my toys. I had this doll, my Grandmother had found in her shop- a thrift store. It was old, with a hard body, and glass eyes that rolled. It was my favorite. I carried her around with me all the time, so I'm not even sure how he got a hold of it, but he pushed her eyes in until they were crossed, and nothing we could do would fix it. I remember crying for a very long time. I'm sure he said he was sorry, I'm sure he tried to fix it. I just don't remember that, I remember crying over my doll.
2. We were about 8, we came home from school and two bicycles were sitting in the front yard. They looked big, they were shiny. Mom said Dad had dropped them off during his break from work. They were for me and Keith. My brother hopped on and off he went. I hopped on and sat. My neighbors and my brother kept saying "Come on Diane. We will teach you to ride." So they tried, and I fell off. I tried again and scraped my knees and my elbows. I walked the bike home and parked it. I went to my room and refused to come out. My knees and elbows hurt. I was playing with my barbies when my Dad got home. I remember him kneeling down beside me, "Do you like your bike Diane?" "Nope." I declared. He picked up a barbie doll and walked it across the floor all the while talking to me about how I could learn to ride, it wouldn't be hard, that he was right there, wouldn't let me fall. It took him a while, but finally I remember I sighed. "Want to try again baby girl?" I looked at my Dad, who I trusted, and was a lot bigger than my friends and my brother. "You won't let me fall?" He smiled, he had me worn down. "I promise." He said. So I nodded and my Dad taught me to ride my bike. He never let me fall, ever.
3. You know how in elementary school there is that one girl who you just want to be friends with more than anything? The popular girl, she's either pretty, or smart or wore the nicest clothes? Well in my school it was Heidi. She had big blue eyes, and the straightest hair that was shiny. My hair was so thick it was always a mess. Even when Mom put my hair in braids, by the end of the day it had crawled out of the braids and swirled around my face. I was unkempt. :) I envied Heidi her hair, and her pretty non wrinkled clothes. I had nice clothes, just wrinkled because I was never still, or dirty because I was sliding across the gravel on the play ground playing ball with the boys. Heidi had two very close friends, and at recess they walked around the playground, but never played. Every once in a while they allowed me on the fringe of their group, so I considered her my friend. They all three had pierced ears. I wanted pierced ears. Mom and Dad had told me that by the end of sixth grade if I had straight A's they would allow it. So I begged them to let me get it done the weekend before the end of school so I could show my friends. And they did. I went to school on Monday with my hair pulled up. I remember the crisp air that morning as I stood beside Heidi's group on the playground and twisted my head back and forth, bringing my hand up to my ears constantly. I remember smiling because I was so thrilled to have earrings. I kept waiting for them to notice, to say something like oh how pretty, are those your birthstones? Finally one of the girls looked at me and said "What is wrong with you Diane?" Heidi snorted. "She wants you to notice her earrings. We know, you got your ears pierced! Whoopie!" and they laughed and went inside, leaving me standing there, feeling stupid. I realized then that she wasn't my friend. I wanted to cry. But my neighbor Cindy, who was a year behind me in school found me that morning as I stood there, and put her arm around me. "I like your new earrings. Let's go climb the monkey bars." That was a true friend, compliment and distract. I never talked to Heidi again. Of course we moved away that summer, I'm sure she really missed me. :)
Monday, April 23, 2012
Forgiveness
Today's question is What has been the most difficult thing you have had to forgive?
Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself.
Suzanne Somers
I had an idea of what my birth mother felt for me. In my head she didn't love me enough to keep me. Never mind that I was better off, that I had wonderful parents, in my mind growing up I despised her. I thought she was this awful person who tossed aside her child. At times I tried and blamed myself, what was it about me she didn't like? I was a little baby, did I cry too much? Was I ugly? Of course none of that was true. But it's a deep wound within when a parent gives you up. I wanted to wound her, like she wounded me. I remember when my Grandmother died, she came to the funeral. I was grown by then, with a child of my own, but I was still not mature enough not to hurt. I ignored her completely. I remember at the graveside, I said MOM to my mother many times, very loudly so she would hear I was calling someone else Mom, my Mom, who loved me. Wilma didn't try to speak to me that day. She talked to my brother, and I of course took affront to that. Why didn't she speak to me? I complained about that many times until my Mom finally said to me, "Diane, you didn't give her a chance. You made sure she understood you weren't available to speak to. You turned up your nose and you turned away." Oh wow. I had done that.
A few years ago, she wrote me a letter. Explaining so many things. Would I have done the same thing? Five children under six, no support, a drunk husband? Maybe, maybe not. But I am not Wilma, I never walked in her shoes, I never had to make those decisions. Who am I to judge someone else? Who was I to say she was wrong? It hit me very clearly then, she did what she did, because she loved me. She didn't feel equipped to make a good life for us, when she could barely make a life for herself. My sister told me that on December 5th, my birthday, every year she would shut herself up in her room and cry all day. She missed so much, but sometimes you just have to do, what you have to do. Who I was to withhold forgiveness from her? Did I really want to be that person? No I didn't. One day I may have to be forgiven. And God forgave me. It's like the story in the bible of the man who's tremendous debt was forgiven him, but he decided not to forgive someone who owed him. He was punished severely. By not forgiving my birth mother, I was punishing myself.
She came to my daughter's rehearsal dinner. She hugged me, and every mean thought I ever had melted away in the face of that hug. She held me in her arms, like I'm sure she wished she could have many times. and I wasn't stiff. I hugged her back.
Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself.
Suzanne Somers
I had an idea of what my birth mother felt for me. In my head she didn't love me enough to keep me. Never mind that I was better off, that I had wonderful parents, in my mind growing up I despised her. I thought she was this awful person who tossed aside her child. At times I tried and blamed myself, what was it about me she didn't like? I was a little baby, did I cry too much? Was I ugly? Of course none of that was true. But it's a deep wound within when a parent gives you up. I wanted to wound her, like she wounded me. I remember when my Grandmother died, she came to the funeral. I was grown by then, with a child of my own, but I was still not mature enough not to hurt. I ignored her completely. I remember at the graveside, I said MOM to my mother many times, very loudly so she would hear I was calling someone else Mom, my Mom, who loved me. Wilma didn't try to speak to me that day. She talked to my brother, and I of course took affront to that. Why didn't she speak to me? I complained about that many times until my Mom finally said to me, "Diane, you didn't give her a chance. You made sure she understood you weren't available to speak to. You turned up your nose and you turned away." Oh wow. I had done that.
A few years ago, she wrote me a letter. Explaining so many things. Would I have done the same thing? Five children under six, no support, a drunk husband? Maybe, maybe not. But I am not Wilma, I never walked in her shoes, I never had to make those decisions. Who am I to judge someone else? Who was I to say she was wrong? It hit me very clearly then, she did what she did, because she loved me. She didn't feel equipped to make a good life for us, when she could barely make a life for herself. My sister told me that on December 5th, my birthday, every year she would shut herself up in her room and cry all day. She missed so much, but sometimes you just have to do, what you have to do. Who I was to withhold forgiveness from her? Did I really want to be that person? No I didn't. One day I may have to be forgiven. And God forgave me. It's like the story in the bible of the man who's tremendous debt was forgiven him, but he decided not to forgive someone who owed him. He was punished severely. By not forgiving my birth mother, I was punishing myself.
She came to my daughter's rehearsal dinner. She hugged me, and every mean thought I ever had melted away in the face of that hug. She held me in her arms, like I'm sure she wished she could have many times. and I wasn't stiff. I hugged her back.
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