A Heart Worthy of Love?

Everyone questions whether they are worthy of love. At some point we wonder if the person staring back at us in the mirror will be enough for someone else. Whether consciously or unconsciously, most of us eagerly anticipate and yet fear the answer. For me, my early days of seeking love were largely unconscious.

My earliest memory was second grade. And, his name was David Shields. As is typical of memories from such an early age, I remember more how David made me feel than about things he said or did, how he looked or what others thought of him. David was my friend. But, in reality I had a crush on him. At least as much as an eight year old could crush on another eight year old. We played on the playground together, we teased each other in class and we shared our lunches with each other. We got teased that we were going to get married, and my name would be Sheila Shields. He was the only one of my classmates to give me a going away present when I moved out of state - his prized pencil case filled to the brim with all the best colored pencils and cool almost toy-like erasers.

But, as an adult pulling these memories back to the surface, what interests me the most is the fact that David was missing part of an arm. His arm ended a little past his elbow, and at its end was a metal hook. At our age, this was just a fact about my friend. I was not disgusted, judgy or curious about how he came to be “different.” In fact, the only real emotion I remember feeling was a bit of jealousy at the cool mechanism he had for picking up things. No boring fingers for David, he could open up the hook and close it down on an object and then carry that object around.

I often wonder if unconsciously I felt that the only love I could get would have to come from someone who also had a physical disability.

As I found my way into teenage life and pining over whatever cute popular boy I had decided would be the perfect boyfriend that week, the fantasy always ended the same. We would start dating, he would be unable to live without me, and so we would get married (of course!). And, then eventually we would obviously adopt kids to make our family. I did, after all, have a heart condition and carrying children was impossible. And, my aunt had been unable to get pregnant and had two kids via adoption, so this seemed to me just how it was done.

Of course, I continued to grow and learn that it was far from the typical way it was done. Two serious relationships in college - freshmen and sophomore years with Paul and then part of Junior year and senior year with Brendan - included many emotional fights, crying and hugging as I tried to “save” each of them from me and the childless future they would be subjected to.

Settling into post school adult life, dating was slower and less intense. Of course, there was still pressure to “find the one,” as co-workers, relatives and neighbors felt like it was their right to check in and predict my future coupling. But, perhaps the encounter that I have never quite been able to shake was a phone call from my own mother. At the age of 23, I was living clear across the country in San Diego  from my parents, who still lived in northern Massachusetts. 

My mom’s excitement was palpable, even over the long distance phone line. Add to the fact that phone calls to other states in those days cost a pretty penny, she got right to it.

“I had the best dream last night,” she baited me but then didn’t wait for me to ask about the dream. “You met a man out there. He was a couple years older than you and a widow. But, it was perfect, because he had a daughter and when you got married then you had a child.” I don’t really remember how I responded or anything about the conversation after that. But, as I had a chance over the years to unpack that “dream” that my mother had for her daughter, it’s a large mix of reactions. First, think about how ingrained this fear of me being pregnant was in my family that it was in my mother’s subconscious dream.

Then of course there was the dark side of the dream. Would a woman really need to die in order for me to be a mother? That seemed extreme and extraordinarily sad to me. And made me wonder why our society seemed to place such an incredible value on parenting that - at the age of 23 - my life was missing meaning if I didn’t have a child to raise?

While this story hung over me for most of my twenties, it’s probably no surprise, that is not how my family was created. In fact the story of my marriage and our family formation was much more along traditional lines than David Shields, my college boyfriends or my family would probably have expected. Yes, as always, my heart played a role in us moving beyond being a couple into starting a family.

It forced us to approach the love we wanted to give children thoughtfully, purposefully and cautiously. Doctors were consulted, plans for children born with birth defects were made and timing was optimized. In the end, my heart forced us to be worthy of both a biological and an adopted child and to love the ups and downs that came with both.

And the best part? No one had to die.