Joining the Club

(There is a show called "Listen to your Mother" that invites women to tell their stories regarding motherhood.  I considered submitting this piece to it, but I felt it would take too much time from my busy family.  Instead, I putting it here.)

Before becoming a mother, I viewed it as a sort of club.  All of these women who had experienced childbirth, holding a little one, sleepless nights, and first steps seemed to be linked to each other and I wanted to be part of it.  I was so excited to find out I was pregnant.  I would finally be a member of the club!  They welcomed me in, and even threw a party for me to join them- a baby shower.  I had arrived. 

I was so wrong, though.  Motherhood isn't a club.  It is a whole series of little clubs; clubs that sometimes fight between each other.  As a new mom, I didn't know how my choices affected my connection to other moms.  Go to work?  Now you are in the working moms club.  Breastfeed?  Now you are in the breastfeeding clubs.  I remember the first time I got snubbed for not belonging to the right club.  I pulled out a bottle to feed my baby at church and women turned their back on me. 

Some clubs you join by choice and some by chance.  I had just learned to navigate the choice clubs, when I was presented with my first chance-club.  Sitting across the table from a group of psychologist, they initiated me into the special needs club with one word- Autism.  I found a lot of support in the other moms of that club.  They welcomed me in, cried with me, and shared the burden with me.  But, man, that club is like sitting in a glass house on a pedestal- everyone stared, wondered, told me how to solve things, and held me up as some grand example of motherhood.  For me, though, I was just a mom of a boy who loved tractors and the color green.

My favorite club that I belonged to was the club for moms with large families.  You will recognize these moms by their overflowing grocery carts, exceptionally large vans, and ability to not get frazzled.  I also belonged to club of moms of all boys.  We're good with dirt, bugs, and have enough legos to rebuild a replica of St. Mary's Cathedral. 

All of these clubs, all of these groups that I either belonged to or didn't belong to- they defined me and my world.  I had learned to let them be my identity.  Until, one day, in the middle of a January blizzard, I joined a different club- a club that I knew existed but had not given a lot of thought to.  I joined this club, like many other mothers, sitting in a doctor's office with the words "there is no heartbeat."  With the death of my daughter, my world collapsed around me.  She was gone, and none of the other clubs mattered any more. 

The first time after Emily's death I encountered someone else in this club was with Megan.  Megan was my son's special education coordinator at the school.  I had known her for years, but knew little of her personal life.  About a week after Emily's death, I braved going out for the first time and went to my son's school.  I saw Megan in the hall and she stopped me, gave me a hug, and said, "I lost a baby, too."  The chaotic background of the elementary school hallway at the end of the day faded into the background as we both had tears swelling in our eyes.  We quickly said good-bye, and I felt strengthened. 

Throughout the next months, as I tried to pick up the pieces of my broken world, I consistently found more and more members of this club- The PTO president, an old college roommate, a school teacher, a co-worker, the nurse at the doctor's office- again and again, they shared their loss and the stories began to weave around me, forming a soft place of love and support.  It didn't matter if they were working moms, breastfeeding or bottle feeding, had other children or not.  In this club of motherhood, those things don't matter.  It was the experience that we shared that mattered, not the other choices we made.  I am not the only member of this club in this room.  I know you are there and I know the pain you have felt.  I am sorry that there are other mothers in this club, but I am so grateful for your strength.   

It has been a year since losing Emily and I no longer see motherhood for all of these clubs.  I see mothers, who are trying to do their best, who put themselves on the frontlines of life everyday.  My motherhood is no longer defined by which clubs I belong to.  In fact, I no longer try to define my motherhood at all.  Sometimes, I breastfeed and sometimes I bottle feed.  Sometimes I homeschool and sometimes I public school.  I am a mother of all boys in my arms and my girl in my heart.  I am a mother to living children and I am a mother to a deceased child.  I am a mother.