"as i write this letter..."

 

"as I write this letter,

send my love to you, 

remember that i'll always 

be in Love with you..." 

People often ask me how many children we have.  For many, this would be an easy question.  For me, it is a balancing act between what is true in my heart, and who would appear at an immediate family reunion.  

There are the three daughters that my former husband and I became family with through adoption, and the son and daughter that my husband brought into my heart through marriage.  So, the somewhat easy answer is five.  

But that is not really true.  It leaves out the son who we were adopting - many years ago - before his first mom decided to parent him herself. And it doesn't acknowledge the daughter I carried, but who passed before her birth.  It also doesn't take into account all of the children that my heart has loved as nieces, nephews, students, campers, counselors, neighbors, our children's friends, and the "third twin" who always made Emma and Clara's childhood more of a joy than I can say.

Today, I am holding our daughter, Jane, tenderly in my heart.  She passed before her birth, but there is not a day that goes by that I don't pray for her spiritual growth and journey in grace, as her mom -- as one who has loved her dearly and deeply.  She is the one that makes me hesitate - most viscerally - when asked how many children I have.

As I thought about her this morning in prayer, it occurred to me that, unlike her sisters and brother,  she is not "of an age," in my heart.  She just is.  I no longer speak to her with any sense of how many years it has been since her passing.  I write to her as an equal.  As a child of God.  Not a child of Kate -- or any other person.  Loving her has taught me so much about shedding a personal, or proprietary, sense of motherhood.  I pray each day that she is with someone who mothers and cherishes her as much as I do.  

This is also something I have learned as an adoptive mother.  I have never known what it feels like to think that I am someone's "only mother" -- I share each of the children in my life with other mothers.  Birth mothers, step mothers, grandmothers, camp moms, corral moms, mother-in-laws.  So this sense of release comes without the heartache of "but I am her only -- her real mom..." 

Somedays, I find myself writing letters to these beautiful children in my heart, on paper, and in the wind.  This morning it was a letter to Jane that prompted this post.  The song that came with it was the Beatles' classic, "p.s., i love you..." I know this song was probably written as a romantic love letter, but for me it is all about the love we feel for those we don't see everyday, but who live and breathe in our hearts.  

dear jane, 

this morning i am thinking about you, and the beautiful strong women that i am absolutely certain God has brought into your experience.  Women for you to e cherished by -- and to learn and grow with.  i pray you know, that from where i am, i hold you close each day -- and, i let you go.  

this always feels like breathing.  drawing my sense of you close -- to cherish each of your remarkable spiritual qualities, then releasing you -- to bless and be blessed -- over, and over, and over again. 

i am at camp -- again.  this is often where i see you in a timeless, ageless flow of spiritual maturity.  I can feel your innocence and your wisdom.  Your playfulness and your purpose -- all around me.  I try not to wonder or speculate about what you would have enjoyed here -- horses like your sisters, or water skiing like your dad.  I find the most peace when i allow myself to just love it all -- and you, in the midst of it.  

it is time to go do what I do here.  be with the children of other mothers.  this, too, makes me think of the moms who have always nurtured you where you are.  it makes me deeply grateful for their care for you -- and it makes me more devoted to my life here at camp. 

with all my love... 

As i write this letter - sharing it with you - i hope you see what sustains and strengthens my heart each day -- loving the children that i have been entrusted to love.  Ageless children of one divine Parent.  

offered with Love, 

Cate

"There is no difference..."

"There is no difference...."

This piece is a departure for me.  It strays away from the safe space of song lyrics and inspiration, and wanders blindly into the somewhat foggy lair of my heart, the place where I often find myself when the lights are out, and sleep is evasive.

So, I was watching a film the other night.  I'd never heard of it before...which didn't surprise me. I don't get to watch many movies these days.  But, I needed to stay awake...right up until it was time to leave for a long drive to the airport for a pre-dawn flight...and a movie seemed like just the right thing. 

Yet this movie wasn't entertaining for me.  It was more like an emotional ambush.  One I didn't see coming.  The cast seemed perfect for a light-hearted romp through romance and family dynamics, but whoever cast this one was playing mind games with me. 

Helen Hunt, Colin Firth, Bette Midler, Matthew Broderick...you see what I mean?  Happy, funny, a bit wacky....nope.  Not at all!!

For me, "Then She Found Me," was anything but light-hearted...it was deeply moving, and profoundly thought-provoking. 

Especially the scene in which a newly-married, and eager to parent but not yet pregnant, Helen Hunt engages in an argument with her elderly adoptive mother about whether there is a difference between the way a mother loves her biological offspring, and the depth of love she feels for her adopted child.  Hunt is convinced that she must bear a child biologically to feel "real" mother love, whereas her mother emphatically declares through hot tears, "there is no difference..."

It took me apart.  I will not ruin the rest of the film for you, but suffice it to say, they had me with this scene, and never let go.  Never...

So, what do I think? Without equivocation, I agree with elderly Jewish mother, "there is no difference."  But do I really know this.  No.

I wish I did.  I wish that I could state, as categorically and without reservation, as she did, that "there is no difference..." (her character is also the mother of a biological son)   But since I have never carried a child to term, I can only speak from what I feel so certain about in my heart.  My love for my daughters...and, for that matter, my stepchildren...is no different than the love I would feel for a child that I'd given birth to. 

If there are any differences in the way I love my daughters, I would say that it has to do with my confidence about my role in their lives.  I believe that a birthmother knows, without a doubt, that she has been divinely appointed to be her child's mother.  As an adoptive mother, I feel this, in every fiber of my being, on a deeply spiritual level, but I can't say that I don't worry, every day, that my children wonder, that, if by being adopted, some divine order has been abrogated. 

For me, motherhood has nothing to do with biology.   And I don't say this to demean my daughters' birthparents, or, for that matter, their step parents.  I know, with all my being, that we love our daughters completely, absolutely and imperatively....nothing less.   I do believe, however, that motherhood has everything to do with caring for a child...whether it starts at conception and continues for the rest of that child's experience...or, nine months, nine years, or nineteen years after his/her birth. 

I can't imagine loving anyone or anything more than I love our children.  If it's possible, I don't know if I could stand it.  This love is already too dissembling and all-encompassing. It has dissolved everything I thought made me who I was.   This is a good thing though...I needed to change.  Self-absorbed, myopic, and critical behaviors couldn't exist in the atmosphere of love which motherhood requires, and calls forth, from the depth of our being. 

But is it different? I so hope not.  I pray with all my being that my children have not experienced anything "less," having grown up in an adoptive family.   Because, more than anything else in the world, I want my children to know the best, the fullest, the most extraordinary love that life has to offer. 

And perhaps, by encouraging and nurturing their relationships with all their mothers..and fathers, they have been able to experience just that. 

I hope...I pray...

Kate

"You can't lose me..."

"You won't be lost if you believe
You can't lose me..."
- Faith Hill*

March is National Women's History month.  So, off and on, for the rest of the month, I would like to share what I have learned from women, like you and me,  who are doing...and have done... things that profoundly inspire me.

The first, not surprisingly, is my mom. 

My mom, Nancy Rosetta Clark McCullough, is the most inspiring woman I have ever known...personally.    And since this series is about what I have seen and experienced, I will not be sharing stories of women I have heard about, or love historically...but, women I have actually known and watched.   So that said...

Okay, so try to imagine your 38 year old self waking up one morning, and suddenly, you are a grieving widow with eight children under the age of 19.  The youngest are 2 year old twins.  You don't own your home. You have no family to depend upon.  You haven't worked in 20 years, and there is no money in the bank to pay bills with.  On top of that, there is no life insurance policy or pension payout to look forward to for the financial support of you and your children. 

What do you do?

Well, if you are Nancy Rosetta Clark, you pray...and then you pray some more....and then you rally your eight children around you into an army of love. 

You refuse to be broken by sorrow or fear.  You challenge despair like a prize fighter, and you pray. 

Did I say you pray? 

I have asked my mother about this time...many times.  Especially when I felt overwhelmed by the prospect of raising, and caring for, three children as a single mom...I couldn't imagine eight!

She said that she was pretty darned terrified...especially during those first few months after the initial covered dishes and caring friends naturally drifted softly back into the demands of their own busy lives...assuming mom had other back-up support in place.  When in fact, there was actually no money, and very little food.  But, mom always explained that when she saw how the love she felt for each of us was never exhausted or diminished, she knew there was a source of supply that was even more reliable than a salary or a job.  It was as infinite as the breadth of her love, and came from a well of goodness that was, in fact, as fathomless as her hope.

And it has always been there...for over 40 years now. 

My mother's love for each of her children, grandchildren, and now, great grandchildren...has never been reduced by the demands placed upon her,  as her large family has continued to expand.  In fact, it has only grown.  Her love goes beyond the boundaries of what we have asked of her.  Her ability to listen without judgment, to share generously, to stretch the borders of her heart without reaching its limits, and to forgive...anything...has only grown more diffusive,  as we have grown in numbers. 

I know that she still faces some of the same financial concerns we experienced after dad's passing, but she never lets them distract her from wisely distributing the real riches of her life's purpose...those of her heart.  She shares her gifts richly, generously, and freely with anyone who needs a kind word, warm hand, a strong shoulder, a gentle voice, and a life that is rich with experience and wisdom. 

Her history in trusting God's care for her children, is breath-taking.  And the more demanding the times, the more she seems to give.

Mary Baker Eddy promises that:

"A mother's affection cannot be weaned from her child,
because the mother-love includes purity and constancy,
both of which are immortal.
Therefore maternal affection lives on
under whatever difficulties."

So, what did my mother teach me?  So, so, so much. But as I sit here writing tonight, I think the lesson I am most aware of is this:   that I can lose money, I can lose my way, I can lose a race, or a bid for a house...but I can never lose her, or God, or my right to love -- my way through....well, anything.

She is my hero.

Love you momma...
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS


*Enjoy this video of Faith Hill's tribute to motherhood, "You Can't Lose Me."

[photo credit:  Lila June Jones..child number 6...2009]

Thanksgiving...when "loss is gain"

"O make me glad for every scalding tear,
   For hope deferred, ingratitude, disdain!
Wait, and love more for every hate, and fear
No ill,--since God is good, and loss is gain."

- Mary Baker Eddy

It was Thanksgiving Day 1988, and we were sitting around a kitchen table extended by folding card tables and collapsible chairs. A maze of legs...chairs, tables, and people...that made it almost impossible to get the turkey out of the oven since space was of a premium in that modest New England kitchen.

But it really didn't matter. In my heart, I was somewhere else. I was in a new "space" - a space of gratitude. And that year, it was not for all that I had, but for all that I had lost.

It had been a hard year. The adoption of our first child had collapsed when his birth mother decided that she couldn't go through with her plan to surrender...a decision that was absolutely God-inspired.

But the deep grief that I felt from that experience had left our marriage shaky, and I had become gravely ill. In anticipation of our child's birth, I had given up a job that I loved to become a full-time mother, and there were days that I thought I would go out of my mind.

By Thanksgiving, however, my heart was strong, my health was much improved, and my marriage was finding more solid ground for moving forward. I'd been re-hired for the position I loved, and I was grateful for its demand upon my skills, talents, and receptivity to divine direction. God had restored so much to my life since the damp, cold day, earlier that year, when all my hopes for motherhood had vanished.

However, it was not for the things I had gained, but for the things that I had surrendered..and lost...that I gave humble, silent thanks that day. Most notable was the loss of envy. Freedom from the chains of "want" had been a liberty I'd never even known to hope for.

From the time I was a little girl, my heart was filled with want. I wanted to know I was loved by my mother and stepfather; I wanted to have more than one pair of shoes; I wanted to be an only child instead of the "oldest of eight." As a young woman, I wanted an education, I wanted to be loved exclusively by a husband; I wanted a career that was satisfying and creative.

Most of all, I wanted a child. I wanted a baby to hold, to love. I had wanted it for so long that having come so close had left me in pieces. So why was I grateful?

Earlier that summer I had realized that what I really wanted was to mother rather than to have a baby. I had discovered that "mother" is a verb. This realization had taken me by surprise. But once I saw it, I couldn't be stopped. I started mothering everything in sight. Projects at work, vacationing neighbors' gardens, a friend's broken heart, a country in turmoil. Mothering was a verb that didn't require ownership or possession. It was simply the heart's response to a childlike need for care. The more I mothered, the less I ached for a baby. 

One day, just before Thanksgiving, my younger sister called to chat, and when I asked her about her blossoming pregnancy, I could hear the hesitation with which she opened up to me. I realized in a flash, that in the past I had always been so envious of anyone else's pregnancy that I became maudlin, cold, and distant. Full of melancholy and hurt.

But that wasn't how I felt this time. I realized that I was truly happy for her; I was no longer longing for something I didn't have. I was mothering. I was overjoyed that this sister, whom I loved, would soon have an opportunity to discover the joys of mothering, too.

When my nephew was born later that year, I was thrilled to celebrate his birth, to hold him, and for the first time, to be truly happy for another new mom.

I had not lost a baby; I had lost envy, sorrow, ache, emptiness. I was blessed by the fullness of opportunities I was discovering...to mother. To express those mothering qualities of nurturing, comfort, strength, patience, joy, humility, energy. Day after day, I was pregnant with motherhood - not a baby. And this was a pregnancy that would never end.

This Thanksgiving I am grateful for the loss of pride, the surrender of pretense, the absence of opinion, the famine of sense (letting go of the sensationalism I see in the news, hear of through gossip, or feel as the judgment of others). I am deeply thankful for the feast of Soul (the fullness of stillness, honesty, humility, kindness, and grace) growing in me. I will continue to be pregnant with gratitude all year.

"Like as a mother, God comforteth His children;
   Comfort is calm, that bids all tumult cease;
Comfort is hope and courage for endeavor,
   Comfort is love, whose home abides in peace.

Love is true solace and giveth joy for sorrow,--
   O, in that light, all earthly loss is gain;
Joy must endure, Love's giving is forever;
   Life is of God, whose radiance cannot wane.

O holy presence, that stills all our demanding,
   O love of God, that needs but to be known!
Heaven is at hand, when thy pure touch persuades us,
   Comfort of God, that seeks and finds His own."

- Mary Louise Baum

Kate