Mother of Sorrows, Cause of Our Joy

I went to the emergency room. Nothing. Just heavy bleeding, dehydration and a broken heart. Nothing on an ultrasound. No child to mourn or bury. Therese did not exist. Rounds of tests from several doctors followed. Finally, a diagnosis of acute gastritis and a hernia– the hernia was causing the wiggling sensation. No explanation for the missed periods, no soul in Heaven to call me mother. The agony of a whole first trimester, the agony of a miscarriage, the agony of barrenness. I still have only the one child.

Grief is infinite as well. The Mother of Sorrows knew that. Everyone who has suffered a miscarriage, or the loss of the hope of a baby, knows that. I’d wager that most post-abortive women know it as well. The punishment for abortion is to be a post-abortive woman.
Forty days after I bled, I went to Mass. There was a beautiful Catholic family there, two proud parents and seven children, the oldest in the habit of a religious sister and the youngest barely a toddler. After Mass, they asked the priest to take their portrait together in front of the statue of Saint Francis. He did so; then he blessed them and thanked them for their “beautiful witness to Life.” Then he said hello to me and Rose, but he did not bless us, or thank me for my witness to Life. I know he didn’t mean anything against those whose vocation is to be part of a small family, but I was crushed. I suffered for Life as much as I could; I had done all I knew how to do for Life. I posted something about my grief on Facebook, and a former friend who attended the local Catholic university commented, “Is everything about you?” He was irate that I was still expressing grief more than a month after losing my hope for Therese. He lectured me in several separate comments about how I should get over it.

Through my motherhood, I have learned that pain, pride, cruelty and callousness are infinite, that as a mother I will suffer infinitely and I will suffer alone. Through the Mother of Sorrows, I am learning other truths. I am learning that the pain of motherhood is infinite, but the grace of the Cross is eternal, and the eternal is greater than the infinite. The shame of motherhood is infinite, but the love is eternal, and the eternal swallows up the infinite. Iniquity is infinite, but the mercy of God is eternal and in His mercy, we find the grace to overcome the infinite. Infinity is real, and nothing can take away that truth. But someday, Infinity will bow to Eternity. I am a mother, and all generations shall call a mother blessed. First, though, comes the Cross.

I don’t have any answers about presidential candidates or what to do about abortion. I don’t have any answers about what constitutes irreverent comedy and what is simply a cruel joke. I don’t know if I’m having any more children, I only know that I long to. But I know that motherhood is necessarily both an infinity of agony and an eternity of grace. Such a thing should not be treated lightly, ever. Not by politicians or pranksters or those who ask irreverent questions. The Mother of Sorrows is also the Cause of Our Joy. Those of us who walk the path of sorrows with her will know her joy. That much I know about motherhood.