The conversation started innocently. I was at a friend’s cookout. A mutual friend and I began conversing about CCD (Catholic education). Bridget is of the age to begin CCD and learn the rites of passage in the faith. There are just a few small problems with that: 1. While she is of “age” she is not of “grade” (most children begin at 1st grade) 2. Learning (enough said) and 3. while most kids do not understand what sin is they do know right from wrong.
Do I wait for Bridget to become “aware” or enter first grade or do I enter her now (at the age she should)? Do I push her through the system because that is what Catholics do, go through the rites or do I say screw it and just let those rites pass her by. Somehow the conversation turned to my unspoken deeper issue with God.
The woman innocently said to me, God only gives special children to special parents. Unknowingly opening a wound I had held in secret. She was trying to be nice, trying to comfort and she (probably) truly believes those words. As a mom living with a special needs child this was my response:
God can kiss my ass.
Yup, I said it.
It is not that I do not love my daughter. It is not that I have an issue with Bridget having a rare genetic disorder and more special needs than President Reagan had jelly bellies. It’s because I am having difficulty rationalizing a loving God with a God who allows my child to feel such pain. A God who thinks it is okay to make a mother hold her child down for two hours while her daughter screams as they try to put an IV in or a catheter exam.
I haven’t been to Mass in a year, since June of 2015. I skipped the usual “high masses” that almost every lapsed Catholic attends: Easter, Palm Sunday, Christmas. We had been regularly attending Mass since Abby started first grade, missing a week here and there but attending with regularity. I have continue to send Abby to CCD, but I haven’t prayed or participated since the week I held Bridget down as they inserted a catheter up her vagina and flushed it with water as I physically restrained her.
Last December when she was hospitalized and almost died I didn’t call for the Chaplin, I didn’t ask her to be blessed. I was not deliberately not calling on God but He had ceased to be of comfort to me. As I held Bridget down for the IV and she screamed mommy hurt then rested in MY arms afterwards I was amazed at her capacity for love.
A God of love should not allow any of that to have happened. There is no greater good in my child’s pain. There is no grace, faith or peace. It is just senseless pain. When she survived and came home I didn’t thank God but my village of support. Those who were there for our family. Those who comforted me through phone calls, texts and any other way they could.
The poor woman I was shouting at said to me that this was the Devil talking through me. That probably wasn’t the way the conversation should have gone and not just because I am not a pretty crier. She is a woman with a very strong Catholic faith and I admire her for it. I don’t (and have never) blame God for Bridget’s health issues but I don’t thank him for her either. I wasn’t kind in my response (it’s kind of a blur).
The next morning she and I met by chance. I apologized for my behavior, that I hadn’t realized I had this unknown issue with God. She apologized for not stopping the conversation. She told me she is praying for me. I let it slide and walked away.
This weekend I walked back into Church to celebrate the life of a great man. It was here that I realized it had been a year since I last attended Mass. His wife, full of grace, spoke of their faith in God and how that faith comforted them. I know that she wasn’t just saying the words but feeling them. I heard her words and wished I could feel the same.
But I don’t.
I just don’t.
This isn’t a post shared for everyone to say they are praying for me or worry that I have gone over the edge. I am okay. I didn’t realize I had this God issue. I still have it. I refuse to believe in a God that makes me harm my child or have her face unspeakable pain. I am only sharing because I am not alone in feeling this way.
This was originally published on Kerri’s blog, Undiagnosed but Okay.