No Matter What

Even as a child I longed to be a mother.  At night my dreams would often consist of rescuing babies, little children, often in a boat lost at sea.  Sometimes I would dream of having my own, other times of adopting, but either way, motherhood was one of the main dreams of my life.  And living this dream has rocked my life profoundly:  the dream has shaped the dreamer.

From the seen to the unseen, I have experienced different types of births.  I have experienced the physical birth of a daughter, the emotional birth of my son’s adoption, and the spiritual birth of the unborn, those that never made it to term.  Each of these has shaped me as a mother and each has allowed me to see the significance of motherhood in all of its forms.  The love, joy, and pain of my journey with each of them have cut and shaped my heart like a jeweler fashioning a diamond with many facets, so that I can see the love sparkling through. 

Giving birth to my daughter was a miracle of miracles, a dream come true.  She was such a peaceful baby, and as I had spent the past nine months talking with her, playing music for her, and aching to meet her, I felt as if I already knew her.  This baby was an artist from the start.  Being a mother for the first time was an incredible gift, even as she introduced me to sleepless nights and the art of conserving energy. 

The reality that not all pregnancies end in childbirth was a remote abstraction, until it happened to me.  Losing one developing child after another was like getting lost in a dreaded realm of non-being.  There were five, and letting go became an ongoing practice.  I would see them on the screen, my babies, and then have to get through the loss.  Sometimes I was told to wait it out, other times an operation was given.   My unborn children left me before I could look into their eyes, but they taught me about appreciating life, about letting go, and about crying softly and embracing those tears as part of love.

When I adopted my son, it was a new kind of wonderful.  His picture was given to me right after he was born and became the most precious meaning of hope.  A Holt escort brought him to this country a few months later.  He arrived on the last flight of the night; the previous three hours of waiting were punctuated with expectant nervousness.  Would he accept me?  Love me too?  Or would he refuse to part with his escort?  But as he was handed to me, he stretched out his arms to me and held me.  It was as if it was meant to be.  I can remember his tiny hands and feeling like he had just come down another sort of birth canal.  It was a new part of motherhood coming alive in me, a mysterious miracle that would reveal itself through this child in due time.  This baby taught me more than any other person in my life ever had.  He has and continues to be my own personal little Buddha.

So there it is:  a triptych of motherhood blossoms.  My love for my children in each case is unquestioningly unconditional … I could never give them back or give them up … no matter what.  Perhaps this is the true meaning of unconditional love.   It’s there no matter what.