Missing Me

Today – May 4 – has been rough. Meteorologically speaking, my emotional state has been cloudy with isolated showers. And my barometric pressure reading is unseasonably high, even for this typically predictable season of emotional upheaval.

It’s birthday season – the highly anticipated and energy charged time of year when my oldest son, Stross, counts down the days to the May 5 anniversary of his birth. His enthusiasm and joyful glee is contagious, yet not strong enough to fully dissipate my annual angst. And, as I said, this year my angst feels uncommonly uncomfortable.

Part of the reason might be that this year, May 5 marks the completion of my 20th year of a complicated odyssey known as motherhood. For someone who once declared she never wanted to become a mother, that’s a pretty big deal.

Be assured that I have no regrets about having become a mother. At 26 years of age, I entered its unique state of existence willingly, even if a bit wide-eyed. I was mature enough to understand the risks and to accept the possibility of consequences. However, that does not mean I understood the reality of potential consequences nor does it mean I was prepared for them. But that doesn’t really matter, does it? Motherhood happens.

Conception, gestation, labor, delivery, and then baby is born. Ready or not, here he comes, and it’s what he brings with him that sets the storms in motion.

Redefined relationships.

Refined finances.

Sidelined careers.

Clarified faith.

At least those are the circumstances that comprised the perfect storm that Stross’ life set in motion.

I am not complaining, justifying, or whining. It is simply the way it was and still is. It is how I do motherhood.

My rough emotional condition this year seems connected to a greater sense of loss than I normally experience around this date – the anniversary of the day my life inexplicably and undeniably changed forever.

Today, one three-word sentence has infused my thoughts: I miss me.

I shudder at how Dorian Gray it sounds. As if who I am today is some twisted outcome of a deal I made years ago.

I also shudder at how pathetic it sounds. As if I live a stunted version of life, trapped in a past I refuse to let go.

It is neither of those. It is something far simpler. I miss me. In fact, I really miss me today.

Ironically, I am missing a version of me I never had the chance to know. A happily married working mother with a beautiful baby boy whose future stretched effortlessly into unknown but exciting days, months and years.

I remember being a happily married woman. In fact, I still am one – going on 25 years now.

I remember being a working mother too. I am still one of those as well, even if in an unconventional way.

I also remember holding my beautiful baby boy with a future that stretched into unknown days. He’s 20 years old now.

It’s just the package deal wasn’t packaged as neatly as I had imagined it to be prior to May 5, 1991. It has not been effortless, and its exciting days have not been free of shadows about the future – specifically my oldest son’s future and how that impacts our family’s collective future.

On May 4, 1991, I still believed that I would retain a sense of freedom about my life’s choices after becoming a mother. I believed that self-sacrifice would be a choice rather than a daily life condition, and I believed that happily ever would be a reality that unfolded not a state of existence I had to strategize to assure.

Please understand.

I do not hate my life’s circumstances.

I do not resent my son. Dear God, no.

I also do not regret one day of my life that has occurred since May 5, 1991.

I simply miss me. The one that never got to be. I think I just want to know if I would have liked her. I hope so. Because I’m trying really hard to make her proud of the woman – make that the mother – that I have become.

Happy Birthday, Stross. You are beyond a blessing to me. The gift of your life is my personal threshold to all things divine. A sacred mystery.

And so I am left to wonder. About her. About me. About your future and our family’s future.

Yes, May 4 has been a rough day. But May 5 has now arrived; and you, my son, will soon arise and shine like no one else. I have a feeling my clouds will soon be lifting. I also have a feeling I will always miss me … well, her. And that’s o.k. Her elusive beauty keeps me company on nights like tonight, and she helps me be a better mother somehow.

So again, Happy 20th Birthday, my dear, Stross. I love you. Forever.
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Annual Personal Performance Review

It is creeping up on me this year, but earlier than typical. At first, I didn’t recognize what was occurring. Too many other life distractions seemed likelier culprits of my demise.

Yet I’m fairly certain I’ve accurately diagnosed my condition: Stross’ birthday is nearly here. Therefore, my annual personal performance review has begun, and I have no idea how I am doing.

The symptoms have basically remained the same for 20 years.

A fleeting thought triggers a moment of breathlessness – the kind that happens when I get caught off-guard but then regain a sense of presence with a deep cleansing breath.

Or a lingering thought leads me to a land far away, into an existence not yet known, and I languish between a grief that is familiar to me and a type of sorrow I’ve yet to identify.

And then there are the unannounced tears.

I awoke early this morning with a solitary, quiet tear falling from the outside corner of my right eye. It made a cool trek down my cheek before landing on my pillow. Instantly I traveled back in time to a hospital bed where I once laid in the same position with a river of tears quietly traveling from cheek to pillow.

Twenty years ago on the fifth day of May, my life changed inexplicably. Strangely, I have never been hung up on the “why” of it. However, I think I will always wrestle with the “how.”

26Then he said, “Let me go, for the day is breaking.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” Genesis 32:26

Like Jacob – stressed with the prospect of encountering Esau and thereby coming face-to-face with his past and his future – I wrestle, praying that the One with Whom I wrestle is God and not some shadow of a former me.

Bless me, I demand. Help me retain a sense of hope. Give me a future that matches my present reality. I will not give up until I am assured I am blessed. I will wrestle as long as I have to.

Yet I know I cannot escape such an encounter unscathed. I know it means I will forever walk wounded toward the future my family and I will share. But I believe the blessing will be worth it. At least it has been for 20 years.

I am in for a long bout of wrestling this year. I can feel it. But I won’t let go. I refuse to. Not until I am blessed.

A Wonderful Time was Had by All

As you likely already know, May 5th is a family holiday in our household; this year was no exception. Our resident honoree–Stross Newcom–planned the day (which even began a day early), and then we all focused on what it meant to spend the day honoring him simply by joining in life as he lives it.

This year Mark's parents, David and Carolyn, included a stop for Stross' birthday on their spring travel itinerary, making his 19th birthday even more special for him.

It's always fascinating to view life from Stross' perspective. Well, as much as it is possible to do so. This year I witnessed how he wrestled with variables out of his control. He had planned his birthday down to the last detail, but he couldn't have foreseen this:

• Dropped messages. The emcee at Chanhassen Dinner Theatres evidently didn't get the message it was Stross' birthday, so Stross didn't get to hear his name announced at the beginning of the show - just as he has witnessed it happening so many times for others. And, yes, I made the arrangements when we bought the tickets and called to double check from the hotel, hours before the show. Something happened, and he was bummed.

• Unseasonable weather. He chose the Minnesota Zoo over other things on his list - indoor things like MagicQuest or Underwater Adventures at the Mall of America. He enjoys zoo animals; and therefore, the zoo is a magical (and thankfully a very accessible) place. So off we went into uncommonly cold spring temperatures: 40-degree weather! Stross was undaunted. The rest of us were grateful that large portions of the zoo are indoors or on display – in a comfortable way – outdoors.

• Uncooperative animals. Unlike in his memories of an earlier birthday spent at the Minnesota Zoo (2007), Stross' 2010 birthday had to occur without a dolphin show (as the volunteer explained it "two geriatric and one pregnant dolphin"). After I explained what "geriatric" meant, Stross faced the reality of fashioning a new memory (one that also had to have no bird show, either). He rose to the occasion showing the same amount of annoyance his mother might have. For all the genetic deviations that occurred as he formed in the womb, my ability to complain while pivoting into the future seems to have infused his DNA - at least I recognized and identified with his personal angst.

• Dizzying heights. Finally, Stross traded staying at the zoo until it closed for the prospect of seeing not just one but two IMAX movies. Unfortnately, the ample accessible seating area (with companion seats conveniently beside) were too close and messed with his non-binocular vision during the first movie: Under the Sea. (Stross can only see out of one eye at a time, so 3D up close makes him "dizzy.") Stross, undaunted, took Mark up on his suggestion to be carried up the stairs to sit by his brother and grandparents (and we would move with him) to view the second show about the Hubble telescope: Hubble. So during the second movie, we all sat as a family, Stross didn't feel dizzy, and he independently muscled his way across the row of seats and down the stairs when the show ended. Then, after a full day of navigating the Minnesota Zoo, Stross proved that he has what it takes to keep on keeping on. (Yes, you'll see some of what I'm talking about in the vlog.) What an incredible annual reminder of life's fragile tenacity. What a gift of life.

And, now for his birthday hangover: Stross spent part of today watching the four little movies of his celebration I made for him - still living in birthday magic – and waiting for the mail to arrive in case it brought some straggler birthday cards. (It didn't.) He remains undaunted, however. He is still wearing the bear claw necklace he bought yesterday, and he still has birthday money to spend.

I hope you enjoy the nearly 10 minutes of his nearly two-day celebration that is shared here. Mostly, I hope a little of his birthday magic transfers to you, because it is a powerful elixir.

Here's to the 2010 version of Stross' Birthday.
Here's to another wonderful year.

Stross - Your Birthday is Nearly Here!

Stross is my oldest son, and each year his birthday calls me to a time of remembrance, reconciliation, and renewal.

In 2008 I wrote an article for The Lutheran magazine about Stross' birthday and how I regard May 5 as a personal holy day. Also, in the preface to Involuntary Joy, I describe something divinely dynamic that happened to me on Stross' 5th birthday (yes, his golden birthday). I wrote how, on that day, I caught an unvarnished look at the reality of Stross' life - through his eyes - and realized that I wanted to be like him when I grew up.

Both the article and the book's preface were attempts to explain how Stross' life has changed mine forever.

I continue to make such attempts – like this vlog, for instance.

I want to share how, as the fifth day of May approaches each year, Stross' excitement over birthday preparations becomes palpable. I want you to know that birthday planning is practically a full-bodied experience for him, with every pore of his body oozing energy whenever he announces how many days remain until the calendar shows May 5.

I am not sure you can understand how our family relies on his constancy as much as we do the changing of the seasons – walking with him through exciting days of anticipation much like an advent calendar with substantially more days. For instance, we know that Stross will begin to talk about his birthday soon after the new year. We might be able to collectively hold him off from full planning mode until after Valentines' Day - maybe St. Patrick's Day - but once there are no commercial holidays on his radar, Stross locks on a May 5 target.

The full month of April is dedicated to plotting (what gifts to ask for), planning (where to spend the day), and even preening (what to wear).

Stross insists on appropriate birthday attire, so "preen" is definitely the word of choice. When choosing what to wear for his birthday, he sometimes tries things on to be sure they are birthday appropriate. In the past two years, the primary criteria has been his ability to wear a shirt with a number that corresponds to his age. In 2009, I was grateful to Peyton Manning for wearing jersey #18. This year I am thankful to the Garner Boy Scouts for being Troop #19. Also, because Stross will soon be joining that troop, this year's choice of attire is especially fortunate.

On every May 5 since 1991, I have privately spent part of "Stross' special day" evaluating my life and how I have been changed by motherhood. Stross' fifth birthday made that process even more intentional.

Motherhood: I may spend the full measure of my life attempting to explain what that means for me; and, how I define motherhood will forever be connected to how I define my relationship with Stross. I do not negate the reality of my separate relationship with Skye, my other, equally remarkable son. But long ago I understood that my maternal sensitivities had been shaped by Stross in ways that lie outside my human comprehension. For Skye, that means he has a much different kind of mom than what he might have had should his older brother arrived without complications.

I recognize the futility of attempts to explain things I cannot know because they never came to pass. Still, I feel compelled to try; every May 5 I feel pulled to the possibility of it. If only you could feel what courses through me. If only you could comprehend the fullness of it. I watched the vlog of me reading from Stross' baby book and desperately want to try to describe what makes me cry as I read.

I am not sad.
I am not disappointed.
I am not overwhelmed.
I am not defeated.
I am grateful.
I am in awe.
I am remembering.
I am renewed.
I am ... ah, yes ... I Am.

Despite all the words I typed above, I remain at a loss for words. That's probably why I chose to read you the story as I recorded it in Stross' baby book – a bizarre mixture of words too big for him to understand and a childlike recounting of things I want him to understand. As you listen, feel what you might then let me know what you felt.

Maybe what you feel will come close to communicating what I want you to know.

Amen. May it indeed be so.