We looked at each other, and then I spoke the truth into the room (although not into my heart…yet). What you are saying is that we need to adopt.
Later, right after the first surgery to try and save my own fertility and ease my terrible pain I dreamed of Mother God. I already knew the report. I would never have a baby out of my own body. My father’s blood will stop in my own veins when I die. It was here she came to visit me in a dream, that Mother of eternal wisdom, with the voice of creation. I was out at the end of a nebula full of light and color. I saw the expanse of the universe and heard her breath on my ear. Don’t push Jacqueline. Your baby is coming. Don’t push.
So when the tiny man from the war torn country asked me to come and answer his wife’s question about Mary, the Mother of Jesus—I understood immediately the implications. Mary had visited his wife in a dream. She knew of the pregnancy. She was a comfort and sign to his wife. This time it would be different. This time I will become a mother. Now my destiny will be fulfilled, just as I knew it would be the first time I beheld a baby in its mother’s arms. Mary, the Mother of Jesus must be promising this to me, for why else would she appear?
So, chaplain, why did Mary break her promise to my wife? I could see he was terrified to ask, but also looking to me desperately to say something—anything—to comfort his wife. My reply was full of angels on high, longed for prophesies, the absurdities of dead infants and doctors in countries far and near poking and prodding the truth from broken bodies. I spoke while still feeling Mother God’s own hot breath on my neck as I watched the universe dance to and fro.
It strikes me that Mary would understand more than most the deep and unspeakable pain of losing a dearly longed for child, for she too is a mother who had to bury her baby.
This answer seemed to satisfy them, but I still wonder if she feels betrayed by Mary. I know I will if my own babies never make it to my waiting arms and heart. But when the fear threatens to overtake me, I calm myself with her voice. Don’t push Jacqueline. Your baby is coming. Don’t push.
Later, right after the first surgery to try and save my own fertility and ease my terrible pain I dreamed of Mother God. I already knew the report. I would never have a baby out of my own body. My father’s blood will stop in my own veins when I die. It was here she came to visit me in a dream, that Mother of eternal wisdom, with the voice of creation. I was out at the end of a nebula full of light and color. I saw the expanse of the universe and heard her breath on my ear. Don’t push Jacqueline. Your baby is coming. Don’t push.
So when the tiny man from the war torn country asked me to come and answer his wife’s question about Mary, the Mother of Jesus—I understood immediately the implications. Mary had visited his wife in a dream. She knew of the pregnancy. She was a comfort and sign to his wife. This time it would be different. This time I will become a mother. Now my destiny will be fulfilled, just as I knew it would be the first time I beheld a baby in its mother’s arms. Mary, the Mother of Jesus must be promising this to me, for why else would she appear?
So, chaplain, why did Mary break her promise to my wife? I could see he was terrified to ask, but also looking to me desperately to say something—anything—to comfort his wife. My reply was full of angels on high, longed for prophesies, the absurdities of dead infants and doctors in countries far and near poking and prodding the truth from broken bodies. I spoke while still feeling Mother God’s own hot breath on my neck as I watched the universe dance to and fro.
It strikes me that Mary would understand more than most the deep and unspeakable pain of losing a dearly longed for child, for she too is a mother who had to bury her baby.
This answer seemed to satisfy them, but I still wonder if she feels betrayed by Mary. I know I will if my own babies never make it to my waiting arms and heart. But when the fear threatens to overtake me, I calm myself with her voice. Don’t push Jacqueline. Your baby is coming. Don’t push.
~Jacqueline Hope Derby, excerpt from "Mother Mary Come To Me". Shared with permission from thesophiacollective. You can find the rest of the essay on their site!
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