In the midst of my earlier hysterics, I decided to call S. S is my caseworker from LDSFS. She had told me before that I could call her any time, day or night. I decided to take her up on that.
I called her up and poured my messy little heart out. She listened, and she sympathized. She cried with me. She didn't have anything earth-shattering to say, and she didn't tell me anything I didn't already know.
But I felt better.
While I'd been talking to S, my mother had called my brother to come and give me a blessing. My brother felt like my bishop should come over too, so my mom called him as well.
I had a good talk with both of them, and I got the most wonderful blessing.
I feel so much better! I know that I did the very best thing in the world for my little Roo. It's just me that I feel bad for. And I will get better. I know I am going to have bad days and tough times. But I'm going to try not to let them get the best of me.
I have decided that (and I'm sorry if this sounds offensive) God is sort of like an 8-year-old boy. He loves me, He just has a funny way of showing it sometimes. I know God loves me. And I know that I have good things ahead.
My bishop said something important tonight, when he was talking about hope. I had told him that I've never had a lot of hope. He told me that hope was linked to faith. If I have faith, I need to have hope.
I will have hope. For Roo, and for the wonderful life she is going to have, and for me, and for the blessings that my Father in Heaven has in store for me.
Showing posts with label bishop. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bishop. Show all posts
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
October 25th, 2009, 3:47pm
I closed my eyes as I counted out three minutes. It was the longest three minutes of my life.
My heart already knew what the answer was, but my eyes didn’t want to believe it when I saw two pink lines on the pregnancy test. I shook my head and looked again. Still two lines. I sat on the edge of the bathtub for a few minutes, staring at the parallel lines. They didn’t change.
I don’t remember going downstairs or sitting gingerly on the edge of the couch, but I must have done, because that was where I was when my mother got home. She’d been out shopping and I pasted a smile on my face as she showed me the things she’d bought. She chatted about Christmas and the things she wanted to get for my nieces and nephews – her grandchildren.
My smile cracked. I started crying. My mother asked me what was wrong. I shook my head. How could I tell her? How could I say it out loud? I felt sick. I sobbed and sobbed. My mother guessed at the truth.
“Are you pregnant?” she asked.
I nodded. Then she cried, too. We both sat there and cried. I don’t know for how long. She started to talk. I should go to the doctor, she said, to be sure. Then my mother, my dear sweet mother, who must surely have been devastated at my news, forgot herself and did what she could to cheer me up. She started talking about eating more fruit and veggies and going for daily walks together. She told me that everything was going to be all right. I could tell that she believed it, and that helped me to think that maybe she was right.
She also told me I should talk to my bishop. I made an appointment to see him the next week. I can still remember the sick feeling I had as I sat outside his office. But he was so kind, so understanding. His love and support were nearly overwhelming. I’m sure this wasn’t the sort of thing he expected to hear as the bishop of a singles ward. He certainly seemed at a bit of a loss as to what he personally was supposed to do. But he put me in contact with LDS Family Services, and he came to my house to visit me every single month – he still does, in fact.
My heart already knew what the answer was, but my eyes didn’t want to believe it when I saw two pink lines on the pregnancy test. I shook my head and looked again. Still two lines. I sat on the edge of the bathtub for a few minutes, staring at the parallel lines. They didn’t change.
I don’t remember going downstairs or sitting gingerly on the edge of the couch, but I must have done, because that was where I was when my mother got home. She’d been out shopping and I pasted a smile on my face as she showed me the things she’d bought. She chatted about Christmas and the things she wanted to get for my nieces and nephews – her grandchildren.
My smile cracked. I started crying. My mother asked me what was wrong. I shook my head. How could I tell her? How could I say it out loud? I felt sick. I sobbed and sobbed. My mother guessed at the truth.
“Are you pregnant?” she asked.
I nodded. Then she cried, too. We both sat there and cried. I don’t know for how long. She started to talk. I should go to the doctor, she said, to be sure. Then my mother, my dear sweet mother, who must surely have been devastated at my news, forgot herself and did what she could to cheer me up. She started talking about eating more fruit and veggies and going for daily walks together. She told me that everything was going to be all right. I could tell that she believed it, and that helped me to think that maybe she was right.
She also told me I should talk to my bishop. I made an appointment to see him the next week. I can still remember the sick feeling I had as I sat outside his office. But he was so kind, so understanding. His love and support were nearly overwhelming. I’m sure this wasn’t the sort of thing he expected to hear as the bishop of a singles ward. He certainly seemed at a bit of a loss as to what he personally was supposed to do. But he put me in contact with LDS Family Services, and he came to my house to visit me every single month – he still does, in fact.
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