Beyond Blue: October 2007 Archives

I have always loved the verses of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, and throughout October and November I say them daily. The beautiful words are attributed to Solomon, which isn't surprising since, according to the Bible, God granted him abundant wisdom. Not Wisdum. Wisdom. (Sorry, couldn't resist that one.)

Here is the full text. Try not to sing "turn, turn, turn" after each line. It's challenging.

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven:

A time to be born, and
a time to die;
a time to plant, and
a time to pluck up
that which is planted;

A time to kill, and
a time to heal;
a time to break down, and
a time to build up;

A time to weep, and
a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and
a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, and
a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and
a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to get, and
a time to lose;
a time to keep, and
a time to cast away;

A time to rend, and
a time to sow;
a time to keep silence, and
a time to speak;

A time to love, and
a time to hate;
a time of war; and
a time of peace.

Halloween is actually a religious holiday—it’s the Eve of All Saints Day (All Hallows Eve). But the only person dressing up as Mother Teresa was the most precious little girl I saw last year at a Barnes and Noble’s costume contest. I think she won.

Whenever I think of saints, I automatically picture Mother Teresa or my patron saint, Therese of Lisieux, or Bernadette of Lourdes, or another really holy-looking nun. The barista at Hard Bean and Booksellers never comes to mind. And yet he has just as much of a shot at sainthood as does a Franciscan brother living in a monastery. Maybe more.

Because to be a saint—to be holy in the truest sense--means being the best you that you can be. And there’s only one person who can be that wonderful self. (You.)

Whenever I think I blew my call to holiness back when I opted to move in with Eric instead of unload my bags at a convent, I read what two semi-famous friends of mine wrote on sainthood. They both remind me that I need not wear a habit or even a turtleneck to become an instrument of God in this world.

So often in life the grass seems greener on the other side of the septic tank (that was Erma Bombeck’s line, not mine). I’m sitting here right now totally envious of my single girlfriend who just jetted off to the Caribbean to go scuba diving. She can do that stuff—she’s not tied down by miniature people. Then again, how many times has she showed up to David and Katherine’s Christmas pageant wishing she had a kid of her own singing "Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer" on stage? Possibly more times than I’ve wanted to go scuba diving south of Florida.

Moreover, just as postpartum issues and the stress of raising children can compound mood disorders, the sadness of not having children—and especially not being able to have them--can also trigger depression in middle-aged and older women. As Peter Rabins explained in Friday’s interview, women tend to define themselves more in terms of their role as a family member and as part of a social network than men, who, more often than women, attach their self-esteem to their workplace. It’s not surprising, then, when some women encounter fertility problems, they feel as though they have failed on a very basic level. And our culture—given its fascination with celebrity pregnancies and births, as evidenced by all the tabloids filled with perfectly round bellies and Gerber babies in tow--certainly doesn’t help.

Since I can’t totally empathize with Suzanne—having two little blessings in my life that I scream at too often—I sent her comment to my guardian angel, Ann, because I know that not being able to conceive and bear children of her own was a big source of her depression.

As always, she blew me away not only by her immediate compassion and generosity of time and effort toward a "stranger" (although Suzanne is hardly a stranger to me), but also at the wisdom that lies within this woman-angel’s heart and mind.

She gives some practical advice about Halloween night, but, more importantly, how to fill that emptiness on an every day basis if you find yourself childless.

Even women who have conceived, bore, and raised kids of their own experience depression when they are no longer in an active mothering role. I have to be honest, I can’t really relate to that right now from where I’m sitting, at the beginning of flu season trying not to think about what kinds of bugs, viruses, and bacteria are going to come home in those school bags this winter (last week’s folder contained a note saying Mono was going around, just, you know, FYI), and one day away from the evening that the princess-fairy and Darth Vader get to eat lots of creatively packaged crap just as long as they don’t smear it on the pieces of furniture that aren’t already adorned with permanent marker.

But, yes, there is very definitely an empty-nest depression, as expressed by Yolanda on the message board of my "What Do You Want From Me?" post:

I have lost the comfort of being a mom because my daughter is 17 and no longer needs me. I based my WHOLE entire being on being her mother and giving her all I had. I guess I thought we would be together forever. That is not the case. I have been downsized and laid off from almost every job I have had and now I have been let go of the most important job ever and that hurts the most.

And reader Betty wrote this comment, ironically, on the message board of my post, "Guardian Angel Reunion":

My daughter is going off to college and my son just turned 13 in May and my daughter 18 also in May. I am now, I guess, getting some of the empty-nest syndrome, but is it really? Some days I get so low and cry until I make myself sick to my stomach.

Would any readers out there who have grown kids like to comment on how they were able to fill the void?