How do I start this?
Let's start with this morning. My little girl is seven-years-old. She was born when my son was seven-years-old. Any story about either one of this children would be so intertwined with the other because of several common factors, one and foremost is they came from this one mother--Me. I entitled this blog "Mommy, do you love me?" This is a question that has been constantly asked by both of them. I couldn't really pinpoint how it started. But this morning when she asked this question I answered, "You are my heart that walks outside my body." This answer made her pause. Now, usually when this question has been asked in the past, I've quickly responded, "Yes, I do. Very, very much." And that would be quickly dismissed and she will ask this question five more times. And I'd answer it the same way. But this morning when I looked at her and gave that answer she didn't ask it again. This touched my heart.
When my son was conceived, I was 25-years-old and has been married for almost two years. I was a graduate student in Clinical Psychology. My school was in Fresno which is four hours away from my husband's house in Southern California. Being the poor student that I was, my husband's ability to provide and support was a given, therefore unquestioned. The map that I had foreseen me taking was very well thought of. Very structured. Never questioned. That's just how I was raised being fourth generation Seventh-day Adventist of the subculture Filipino-American immigrant. So many subcultures. A subculture within a subculture. Anyway...that explained a lot of why the map I was following was not questioned. The universe started making me question this as early as 19-years-old.
Catapult to the late 70's--
I was born in Manila in the early 1970's to an Adventist couple. They've had two children before me--a boy then a girl. My idealist father was going to seal his family constituent with a boy--he wanted at least two children to carry his name to another generation. And then alas, out I came! I was not the answer to this prayer or this value. A girl cannot carry the family name because she will have to change it when she gets married. I probably heard this story around five to seven-years of age. At which time my five to seven-year-old mind responded, "I will never get married."
Catapult to the 30s--
I don't know which story came first, dad wishing the third child was a boy or that his mother died giving birth to the seventh-child, in which the seventh-child also died because it never came out of the womb. There weren't hospitals around where my father lived--a province in the Philippines--in the 30s. She died during childbirth. The fetus died with her. Such a sad tale. In any case, this story made such an impression on me I decided I wasn't going to have a child either. Yeah, that's what my seven-year-old brain came up with.
Then came the 80s--
I mentioned fourth generation Adventist, right? Yeah that really puts a foundation on things and when you entrench your young children in it, guess what happens? Yeah, they believe it! Hook, line, and sinker!!! I was seven by the time the 80s came along and I was in elementary school. I believed it so much that when my church put out a poster saying "Harvest 1985" I thought, "Jesus will certainly come before then." LOL!!!
.....oh and by the way, I am writing a book. So I think this will be a process. You'll have to stay tuned for my next blog entry. In the meantime I have to do my day job. Catch you all later.
