My First Mother's Day

Since my blog is entitled, Confessions of a Catholic Mother, I felt it was especially poignant to write today on Mother’s Day. Actually, this is my confession that I have not done a great job at keeping up with all the things I want to do in life. Being a wife, mother, friend and writer. It is really hard to do!! I manage to find time to skate by each day on the first three, even when I feel my head in a whirlwind. But the last one, being a writer, which I love to do with passion, is usually placed on a shelf until I can sit down and write my thoughts. Not a day goes by that I do not have an idea, thought or urge to write about something, I just rarely manage the time to put it all together. So here it is…. Just as my blog is titled, I am going to commit for 1 year to write a daily confession. I know, I know…365 (I pray to God next year is not a Leap Year!) About being a mother, wife or just a human being all wrapped into my faith. Most will not be as long as they usually are. But each day, I will write one thing and please hold me to it. Let’s see how this goes.

My First Mother’s Day

Today, is actually my 10th Mother’s Day, a decade of being a mother…whether I was ready or not! They have all been equally special, each year more amazing with the addition of more children, the things they have accomplished and milestones we have hit. I am truly blessed and eternally grateful that God has bestowed his most precious gift upon me. The gift of Life…not just because I was able to create it (let’s be honest they all were not intentional!) But the true gift of understanding the meaning of Life; the meaning of being a mother, I do not think there is a single mother who would disagree that once that happened, your heart was eternally placed on your sleeve.

I can pretty much remember every Mother’s Day, some spent with family, some with my children and a few lucky ones at a spa! Yet, there is one in particular that sticks out as the most memorable Mother’s Day and ironically it was before I had the chance to actually be a “mother”. In 2000, I found myself pregnant with my first child. So I guess, you could say I was a mother, by definition, but not by experience. I was 21 and pregnant by a man whom I had been with for almost four years. He was at that point, the love of my life and although the pregnancy was unintentional, I wanted to make it work. His father was a prominent attorney in Philadelphia and the family on the outside had the appearance of a normal unit. The man I thought I knew and loved had become angry and scared about the pregnancy. He made it clear from the beginning that I was not going to ruin his life with a child and all of a sudden did not know how he felt about me. One night his father called and offered me a lot of money to abort the baby, he said if I loved his son, we would get married and start a family the proper way. When I did not want to do that, his parents encouraged their son to leave and go back to the East Coast. When I decided to have the baby, my boyfriend said that I had proved to him how much I loved him by choosing the baby over him.

He said that I had made the wrong choice and he would spend the rest of his life making sure I suffered the consequences of ruining his. When he did leave, I was scared and alone, but also knew he was full of threats he didn’t have in him to make due on. He was scared as well and had learned that if money didn’t absolve his issues, than running away would. My mother and stepfather were supportive and did not talk me into keeping or aborting the baby. They said they would help me through my choice. I didn’t want to burden them with any decision, but knew they would love me no matter what I chose. I just wanted to know what was wrong and make the right one.

Even my obstetrician and his office consulted and encouraged me to have an abortion, saying that I was so young and would end my life, as I knew it. When I was almost four months along, I felt alone, scared and like a failure. I called my ex-boyfriend to tell him I needed money to have an abortion. He wired it that afternoon. I went into Planned Parenthood two days later. I did not want to abort this baby, that by this time, I had felt moving inside me, but I didn’t know what else to do. My plan was to tell people that I had miscarried due to stress, because in my heart I knew it was not right, even to those who encouraged it. I also could not face my family and this would be the easiest way out of my predicament. I used a fake name, they never asked for ID of any kind, I guess I thought that this way my parents would not find out. As if a list is printed each year of the women who enter the facility. They took me into a cold, sterile room and told me to change into a paper-like gown. A doctor came in and performed an ultra-sound, he never let me see the screen and barely spoke two words to me. I just wanted someone to listen to me, to tell me what I was doing was ok and to make my decision easy. He said they baby looked to not be growing right and might have deformities anyhow so it was good I was there. It was strange news, since I had had a normal ultrasound a month before. I had not once heard that before from my OB and thought maybe he had missed something. He said that he would be brief and I would be able to resume my life as if nothing had happened. He got up and said he would be back. I remember just lying there shivering and broke into a whimpering cry. How did my life that was once so full of promise ever come to this moment? I was not overly religious and usually prayed when I needed something from God. I felt so unworthy of God at that moment, yet, I began to pray. I don’t think I have ever prayed so hard for an answer in all of my life, even through the horrendous things I went through as a child. I just began to pray, I prayed to God, Jesus and the Virgin Mary; I prayed to Mother Teresa and to any other Holy person I could think of. I specifically remember saying, "please Blessed Mother, I cannot do this alone, but do not want to lose this baby.” Yet, I didn’t think I was capable of keeping it.

I don’t think it was more than 30 seconds after that, another man came in. I remember his nametag: Dr. D'Angelo. He was not like the first doctor, he was kind and had a warmth about him. He hugged me and said I would be ok. He did another ultra sound and turned it around so I could see my baby and the beating heart…in that moment, time must have stood still. He said, "You have so much scar tissue, that I am afraid if I abort this baby, you may never have children again.” He said he wanted me to be sure with what I was going to do, he was going to give me a minute to think about it and he left the room. I know in my life that at times I have been dense when it came to getting signs from God, but not this time. I also remembered a vision of a friend who had a baby at a young age. I knew she had struggled and had to grow up with her daughter, but all I could see was her walking hand in hand with her child, her little blond pigtails in little curls. I had not thought about her in a couple years, but that memory came flooding into my mind.


I sat up and dressed just as a couple of nurses came in to start the procedure. They asked what I was doing and told me to get undressed. I said I did not want to go through with it, I wanted to keep my child. There did not seem to be any understanding between them and one seemed angry that I was leaving, I remember her stating clearly that I was making a huge mistake, that I was young and would have more children when I was married. The other one chimed in and said that, it was obvious the father did not love me or want the baby because he was not with me and I would be alone in raising it. I would be a burden to society for making that choice. The other one also said, it was against protocol to let me leave since it was going to start and I had paid. I was holding back the tears of shame, it was worse than being attacked by the Grim Reaper on my way in the building, someone who thought they could scare me into not having an abortion. I had always thought the people at Planned Parenthood would be more supportive of “my choice”, than the religious zealots on the outside that chanted hateful things to me on my way in. I learned that day that people are only supportive of your “choice” if they agree with it, no exceptions.

The first doctor came in and told me that it was too late and he felt it best to abort my child. I said I wanted to speak to Dr. D'Angelo and he said he was the only doctor who had seen me. I insisted on seeing Dr. D'Angelo and he said there was no doctor there by that name. The whole process was only a few minutes, but felt like an eternity. I left crying and scared, but I knew that I was doing what I wanted to do.

A few weeks later, I had my appendix rupture and was in the hospital in and out of consciousness for three days. They thought it was kidney stones and I sat for three days while the poison from a ruptured appendix spilled into my body. They were not sure if I would survive and said the baby would probably die. My mother flew in and came to my bedside. I vaguely remember her praying and saying that God would not let anything bad happen to me. I had surgery to remove the appendix and woke knowing that the child inside me was going to be fine. I remember feeling so many angels around me during that time and knowing that what had happened to that point was not a coincidence. I remember calling his father when I woke up in the hospital from the appendicitis and said that it was a miracle that we were both saved. His response was, "I guess God did not hear me because I prayed the opposite". I knew at that moment that my heart had been falsely filled with love that was never going to be reciprocated. I also came to realize that Dr. D’Angelo was sent as an Angel in the moment when I needed God the most. Five months later, on July 23, 2000, I gave birth to a healthy, beautiful baby boy.

I can't change what kind of father he was, but I have an amazing almost 11 year old boy, who my husband has adopted, that I would not change anything in the world for. I almost didn't give him a chance because I didn’t believe in myself, I trusted in a culture that found it acceptable and even in my own doctor who had no regard for the value of his life. I listened to friends, professors and strangers who all said they didn’t want me to make the biggest mistake of my life ...by being responsible for a life. You see, that is where I think they were all wrong. Two months after the appendicitis, I celebrated Mother’s Day, pregnant, apprehensive and still unsure where my life would end up. I do know one thing though. My son gave me the most amazing lesson of all. Personal responsibility and a love for myself that I previously did not have. I also learned to trust God a little more in his plan. That Mother’s Day, before I fully experienced what being a mother was, I learned the value of my own life and the amazing possibilities of what God had in store for me to come. That is something no one could have ever told me. I had to trust and know it would happen, even when I didn’t see the evidence of it. That is the beauty of being a mother and that is the amazing miracle of trusting in God. I have never fully shared this story with friends, mostly out of fear that they would not believe me. Another thing my children have taught me, you don’t have to have the world believe you, because God is the only one who matters. Speak what is your truth and in your heart because it always has been and always will be between you and Him anyway....