My knees haven't graced a pew since September. My feet haven't headed toward the alter and my voice hasn't sang out in jubilee. I call it not being on speaking terms with God. I took a hiatus from prayer and church in an attempt to make sense of things on my own.
People telling me it was a "medical mystery" in response to hearing what happened to me and Hercules really prompted this. I know they meant to give me words of comfort, and that those same words that have been spoken to many grieving people. But they weren't comforting, they were heart breaking. Literally heart wrenching.
Some of my confusion and lack of ability to articulate my feelings on God right now lies in the "medical mystery" vs the "miracle". When it comes to things going wrong, it's a medical mystery. And when things go right, suddenly God is a miracle maker. In my case, it was a medical mystery. I wasn't raised to believe that science is the answer, so saying it is in this case just doesn't sit well with me. How can he be the the cause when things go well but suddenly when things go wrong we blame science?
Growing up an "occasional" Catholic and hearing those words rocked my world. I'm not saying my family wasn't or isn't good Catholics, and that we didn't follow all of the sacraments. I was baptized, communioned, confessioned and confirmed as a Catholic. My parents are god abiding, Catholic people. My grandma loses a bit of herself every time she misses Sunday mass. I was an occasional Catholic in the way I filled the pew with my parents and brothers and sisters whenever I found the time.
I didn't always feel the need to go to church to know what God wanted me to do. I heard his calling from a very, very young age as I coddled and rendered care for every youngster within reach. I nursed every doll I had out of "infancy" into "toddlerhood." As long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a mom more than anything else. Give me an option between fortune, fame, or motherhood and without hesitation, I would choose motherhood. I knew whether or not I was in church, what it would take to act in a godly way. To show compassion and to give forgiveness without question.
Either way, feeling like even for an instant that me bearing a child wasn't in God's plans (at that time or maybe ever) was enough for me to say enough. With trepidation, I broached the subject of not going to church with my family. I was met with a bit of resistance, but mostly understanding.
Tonight, I made an exception to my church policy. I went to church, with a bit of resistance in my heart and a visible reluctance. Sitting in the pew, I broke down and cried. And by cried, I mean I sobbed. I miss my baby every minute, of every day. And sitting in church, attending "midnight" mass like I have done for 22 years with my family, I realized once again something Hercules wasn't in attendance at. I can't articulate a clear explanation for my feeling tonight.
I guess I just had some things to think about for tonight, poor timing because of tomorrow's date but these kind of feelings don't always take convenience into consideration.
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