The Degrees of Motherhood

For eleven years I was “just” a stepmother.  I would join conversations centered on kids, but never did the other mothers afford me status because I was just a stepmother.  Although I shouldered much of the responsibility and expense of child rearing, I had no legal authority, and the conversations I joined in would go like this: 

Me:         “Oh yes, I remember when my stepdaughter did that . . . one time, she even . . . . etc.”

Others:   “Oh, you have a stepdaughter?  Does she live with you?” 

Me:         “Well, yes, part of the time, but most the time she lives with her mother in Aurora,”

Others:   “Oh.”  And they would then turn their attention to the other real mothers.

The dreaded question of Vanessa's residential status and hence the validity of my (step)motherhood came to haunt me until one day when I mentioned to my new friend Tracey that I had a stepdaughter;  I waited for the usual response, but instead she replied, “You have a stepdaughter??  Wow, how lucky you are!”  I nearly choked with gratitude.

My lack of real motherhood was not due to lack of trying.  Once I finally became pregnant, I miscarried at 12 weeks.  After two more years of trying, when my own mother was terminally ill with cancer, I became pregnant with my son.  I had arrived at the decision to forego fertility treatments and start researching adoption when my mother first became ill, but her illness occupied the family to the exclusion of all other projects. 

Toward the sad end of her battle against cancer, I found myself pregnant.  It was a complete surprise and a wonderful event, but depressing to know that she and my baby would never meet.  Had she survived, my son and I would have had the joy (and luxury) of a close, doting grandma, and perhaps been bumped up a rung in the motherhood ladder.

Becoming a real mom complete with my own labor and delivery stories afforded me all the status which had previously been withheld.  I entered the world of toy stores and playgrounds, of pediatricians and Children’s Tylenol ®, of strollers, and tiny hats, and large plastic paraphernalia crowding my living room and bedroom.  On occasion I found myself becoming one of them!  I would crow about motherhood as if I invented it, I would encourage my childless friends to engage in this unique experience as if their lives now appeared empty to me.  I had to stifle the urge to hold aloft my much sought-after gift as the glory of the universe.

It’s taken several years to come down from that high.  I no longer judge others so harshly, thank god!  To be so arrogant is tedious at best.  I have girlfriends who have chosen to remain childless, which has inspired me in another direction.  As women, we are more or less the nuturers of the human species.  So doesn't that indicate our universal mothering of others regardless of physical reproduction?  And as such, does that not unite us in our mutual caring? 

Am I an idiot to think this way?  Am I trying to erase important differences?  Well, perhaps we can at least quit judging each other based on our reproductive choices, right?  . . . and then there's Octomom!

Lavinia Linnen

Lavinia’s Eulogy, February 2, 2009

“Lavinia Linnen” -- this beautiful alliterative name was synonymous with Angel for my family and me.  She was truly a Godsend in my family’s hour of need.  She cared for my brother Sammy at a time when my mother was no longer able to.  Sammy was severely developmentally delayed and epileptic.  Lavinia rescued my family at a critical and stressful time; I truly owe her much gratitude because you see I was just a baby then and she stepped in and allowed my mother to take of me, and my other brother Henry, and at the same time feel assured that Sammy was also well cared for. 

She had so much love in her heart.  She always told me how much she loved me and how dear I was to her.  It’s not often in life that someone just loves you unconditionally—someone besides your mom or dad.  Never was there a more hardworking, generous, giving, truly Christian woman.  She showed an innate patience working with children that most folks gain only over many years of experience.  She was so wise.  She knew never to criticize a child, but only to praise the good and give lots of hugs and love.   I think she knew more than most psychologists!

My brother Henry was saddened to learn of her passing and he wrote me this:  “She was more loving and understanding to the kids she cared for than many parents are able to be with their own children.  When we would drop Sam off after having him visit back home for a day, he would run to her and hug her and you could tell that they both missed each other.  She had an endless supply of love.  Someone should build a kids’ home and name it after her.”

After my parents’ passing, I reconnected with Lavinia and we chatted a lot about the old days.  She patiently answered many old questions and helped me resolve some difficult feelings I had harbored over the years.  So much pure love shone from her heart; she helped me move ahead in a positive direction.

Dear Sweet Lavinia, now that you are in the arms of God, I know you are surrounded by many loving children. You were our blessed Angel on earth and now you will always be our Angel from above.  Thank you.