Blessed

From the 1st Chapter of Luke:
And coming to her, the angel Gabriel said, "Hail, full of grace! The Lord is with you."  But she was greatly troubled at what was said and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.  Then the angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.

"Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son,
and you shall name him Jesus.  He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High . . .  of his kingdom there will be no end."

It is a strange and glorious thing to realize that all I believe, faithwise, is centered on a supernatural, miraculous conception in the womb of a scared young woman.

It is a strange thing to listen to these glorious words from last Sunday's Gospel -- words I believe, words I practically know by heart, words that form the foundation of our Rosary prayers-- and feel an achy sort of longing.

It is glorious to know that soon, the pain, discomfort and worry I've been carrying around for quite some time will be just an unpleasant memory. 

It is strange to know that part of me is gone.  

Last Monday, I had a hysterectomy.  

I won't bore you with details, but I will tell you that so far, things are going very well.  I had great medical care, was lucky to have the surgery robotically (minimally invasive, less pain, quicker recovery) and have had fantastic support at home from family and friends (and one nag, who knows who he is).  

And I am trying hard not to be a sappy mess about the whole thing, which of course, for me, is quite difficult.  Facing facts, I know my uterus and ovaries haven't been doing me much good lately.  I haven't had to use them to make a baby in over 18 years; my uterus has just been hanging around, filling up with tumors, and needed to be gone.

But like Mary's womb defined her, I sometimes feel like mine defined me, as well.  At least it defined me as a mother, a title and job I have held and loved for over 26 years.  While I certainly don't feel like any less of a mother without my uterus, I do appreciate it, the miracles of conception and childbirth, and the motherhood that it allowed me.  (Good grief, that is sappy, isn't it?)  But it's true.  


And I know, like Mary, I'm blessed.  I was able to carry my children in my womb, a strange and glorious experience in itself.  I will always be thankful for that.  And I know in time (probably a short time), this achy sadness will leave, and I'll fully appreciate all that modern medicine and a great doctor have done for me.  


But for now, for this Advent, and for these last few days before Christmas, I'm thinking of Mary, and the crazy miracle that happened in her womb.  She had to be full of grace to believe, accept and glorify that miracle; I'm pretty sure I'll never be that full of grace, but I'm thankful that I have enough grace to be thankful -- for my womb and my children, my own little slice of miraculous.     


peace