A Gift just as I begin to fall...

My brain was flittering all morning. I couldn't concentrate and having to re-do work because I wasn't focused. Then it came... the news that my subconscious was anxiously awaiting and keeping me off my game: the pathology report.

Let me back up, with as little detail as necessary: I had a D&C last week to "vacuum" my girly parts due to a biopsy that showed some pre-cancerous cells. We were hoping that the report would show that the biopsy was not anything to worry about right now; we were hoping that we'd get to be the couple who could get prepared for one more round of Invitro in a few months -- something that we've heard often has more success after a D&C; we were hoping that the news would be more positive than not.

So, I'm trying to work with little success when I hear my cell phone ring. I'm on the phone with a co-worker, so I didn't try to catch it, but then it happens: a voicemail from my DOCTOR. Not the nurse; the doctor. Now when has your doctor ever called with GOOD news?? Perhaps they need to get into the practice of that just so you don't know what it means when they call you before you speak with them.

But I digress. The doctor reminded me that after surgery he had noted that the what he took out was too fluffy. Evidently, "too fluffy" to a doctor is what a pathologist says is "as bad as it can be without being called cancerous," but they can't totally rule out that I'm not developing endometrial cancer. The C word is scary enough, but when you are about to turn 41, been through tons of fertility treatments and procedures, and holding out hope for one more year to try for a bio-child, there is a scarier H word: hysterectomy. Soon.

I process this all while sitting in my cubicle facing the rest of the office and realize I'm about to totally lose it. Escape. Gotta go. Boss out, I email his Blackberry, call my husband to come pick me up NOW, and I nearly ran out of the building for fresh air and sunshine: my cure-all. I won't dwell on the tears that flowed when I saw my husband or the painful conversation that followed. What I want to tell you about next is the gift I got once I got home.

As I've mentioned in another post, I NEED to be outside every day or I get nutso. And when I'm sad, I REALLY need to be outside. Luckily, today was cold but sunny and my back deck was the perfect spot to escape and soak up some of my personal medicine. I decided to grab my camera when little birds were jumping around the tree, but they flew off before I returned. Disappointed, but not without hope, I sat still in my chair enjoying the sunshine and colors of fall hoping to get a great shot of the birds when he came: the cardinal.

The cardinal is one of the regular visitors to my bird feeder but I never seem to have a camera when he comes by and he skitters off once I show up with one. But today was different. He landed on a tree not too far away and just looked at me. And he sat. And sat. And sat. I clicked. And clicked. And clicked. Then he jumped down a few branches closer. And sat. I clicked. My heart warmed. The photo was perfect!Watching me closely, he jumped to the tree by the bird feeder, peeked around a post at me and then quickly flew off, done with his modeling job for the day.

Next, I hear stomping in the leaves down by the creek and get to the edge of the deck in time to see a family of deer run up the opposite hill behind my home. I was so excited to catch a quick photo of one of them, although not too great (Can you see the deer in the bottom left corner?), and realized I was actually smiling and feeling better.

The gift.

The reminder:

The birds are cared for.

The animals are cared for.

God is still caring for me even when I feel defeated.

Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?....And who of you by being worried can add a single hour to his life?...But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. Matthew 6: 26, 27, 30 NAS

Faith. I need to hold on to the faith that God's plan will become clear to us as Jeff and I walk down this unexpected path. Not easy.

For I know the plans that I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope. Jeremiah 29:11

Please keep us in your prayers.

Fall in Northwest Arkansas

Fall has always been my favorite time of year, even though in North Texas, only one or two trees actually changed colors and that wasn't until Christmas time. My romance with fall likely has something to do with having a November birthday, but it is also because I love the rich jewel-tone colors that blanket the landscape, the crisp rustling of leaves under my feet, and of course, dressing up in costume for Halloween. This morning was clear and cold, promising more color changes before all the leaves fall. Witnessing a true Fall (and all four seasons for that matter) was one of my main motivators for agreeing to the move to NWA and I am finding it is all I had hoped for. I hope these photos will give you a little taste of fall as well. Now, go jump in some leaves!

The Childless Mother - A Memoir

By Julie Grau
original essay written August 2007


The couple ahead walks into the sanctuary. I capture a glimpse of the woman’s smile as she looks up at the man soothing the baby cradled in his strong arms. Pick, pick, pick. The scab splits wide open and I find myself unexpectedly nursing the injury as it oozes fresh juices. My mother always told me not to pick scabs. “It is best for wounds to heal correctly inside or you end up with a nasty mess brewing beneath the top layer,” she’d lecture as she applied band-aids to the latest dent on my shin. I’ve been trying to let this particular scab heal for a while now, but it continues to fester. What will it take to heal the wound of being a childless mother?

At least once a week I am forced to face the pain. There’s the curiosity of my students whose parents are mostly still in their twenties: “Why don’t you have kids?”; “Don’t you want kids?”; “Aren’t you too old to have kids?” My favorite came from a student who always tells it like it is: “If you have kids now they’ll be teased when they are in school because you’ll be old like a grandmother!” Then there’s the fact that in fast-growing McKinney, I meet new people all the time who invariably ask the question, “Do you have kids?” Hmm… how should I answer today? There’s the simple leave-this-topic-alone answer, “No.” But then again, there’s my usual funny answer, “Yes, if you count my husband and my dog.” Of course, there’s the serious answer, “No, we’ve been working on it for awhile now.” Or, the one I’d love to say, “It is none of your #@$* business!”
The responses to my childlessness often tell me a great deal about each person’s character:
· The well-meaning – “I have a cousin who got pregnant right after they adopted.”
· The optimist – “My sister had beautiful twins at 43.
· The faithful – “God has a plan for you.”
· The irksome – “My friend adopted the cutest little China doll. She’s fun to dress up.”
· The realist – “You are so lucky. You can travel a lot and sleep late!”
· The clueless – “Well, trying is the fun part!”

Most of these people have valid points: I don’t have dirty diapers to change, soccer games to attend, or nannies to pay; not to mention that I am about to turn 40 which would make me a 50 year old PTO member. My time is my own – shared only with a husband who loves me dearly and a dog that is happy with a tummy rub. Jeff and I can rent rated R movies without the concern of “little ears,” sleep until noon on Saturdays, and travel at the drop of a hat. I have the advantage of caring for children in the role of auntie, godmother, teacher, and playmate - reading happy books, playing with fun toys, seeing cute movies, and giving cranky kids back to their mother. I suspect this is why grandparents enjoy grandkids…all the fun and little of the work. And Lord, I do understand the work required from my years as a babysitter, a nanny, and even a day care director.

Yesterday, I played mom to the seven boy Bryn Mawr Street Gang. Why did they knock on my door? Maybe because I didn’t just tell their parents when they caused trouble, but I also learned their names, let them play in the sprinklers, talked about skateboarding, and let them pet Ginger. So in the bloodied-knee scooter incident, I was called on for band-aids and a phone to call home. Funny, since most of the kids were just as close to their doors as to mine. Perhaps I am more mothering than their mothers? Is it not better to be a universal mother than to just raise one or two? Even my old friend Kimberly’s three kids benefited from my mothering; Kimberly called after I left to tell me her kids wished I lived in San Antonio. Her oldest even came home from a trip I helped her pack for and insisted on doing her own laundry “the way Miss Julie taught me.” Hmm, that makes ten kids mothered in just two weeks.

As a teacher, I find that my classroom becomes a safe home for students. Tears? Anger? Frustration? Go see Mrs. Grau. Some students I barely know have begged for refuge in my room from their daily anxiety. So why seek me out when in need of mothering? Certainly not because I am easy on students: I demand hard work and expect personal responsibility for behavior - even behavior slightly beyond their control. I suspect mine is the only mothering some students ever really know since their young mothers struggle with revolving boyfriends, low-wage jobs, drug addictions, and various other woes of the low-socioeconomic population of McKinney.

Still, with all this mothering, I long to give my soul to a child of my own. I want a child as smart as my husband and as creative as me. A child who laughs easily, sings happily, and plays with abandon. We have tried it all to find this child, but God has not readied one for us yet. I keep playing an old movie in my head where a little angel is waiting while God is readying him for the right time on earth and the best family to meet his needs. Are we not right for someone yet? What else do we need to do? We’ve certainly done all we can to help God along: charts, temperatures, pills, shots, in-vitro, and everything in between. We’ve even been to various seminars on foreign adoption, domestic adoption, and fostering–to-adopt. Mom made a powerful statement as we discussed the possibility of becoming foster parents: “I think you’d be great at fostering, but I want to see you bring joy into your lives, not more heartache and pain.” I know she’s right. I recognize the signs that I’m not thoroughly healed from our lack of fertility to cope with bringing a child into our home only to have to return it to the parent that neglected or abused it. Forget picking a scab – that would be ripping it off and taking new skin! Besides, Jeff’s not ready to let go of the dream of having our own children. Am I? I can’t quit picturing the photo of our DNA matched up: those three perfect circles in a petri dish; those three blastocysts that I had hoped would grow into three beautiful souls; those three little angels that just weren’t ready for the world.

So I remain a childless mother. Can I find peace in this existence? Can I give this pained heart back to God and move on? The truth is that I love to mother kids and give them back. Sometimes I even prefer it that way. I delight in being the willing listener, the wisdom giver, and even the mischief maker to my friends’ children. Can I relish in helping them grow without having to pay the bills? I take pleasure in getting a new group of students and helping them discover their potential. Can I savor the time spent helping them blossom during the time that I have them? Could it be that God wants me to heal and prepare for my own child by accepting my current assignment as universal mother? Am I willing to be the stitcher of wounds, the healer of hearts, and the grower of knowledge for the children of other mothers? I’m not sure I’ve healed enough to have the answers. The scab remains tender – only recently formed. But here’s what I do know: I love having kids in my life. To that end, my heart responds, “Let the mothering begin.”

Footnote, fall 2008: I "retired" for awhile from teaching due to my move to Arkansas and am waiting for a sign as to my next path towards mothering.