Are You There God, It’s Me Catherine

Posted on June 5, 2013 // 48 Comments

Up until recently, my faith in God was unshakable. If you had asked me then why I was religious and why I believe, I always said the same thing: When I ask, God listens.

So when the doctor told us the baby wasn’t growing and the pregnancy would not continue, I begged God to listen.  I prayed more than I ever have in my 37 years of living a religious life.

Imagine the person you love the most in this world was teetering on the brink of death. I assume you would call on God or whoever deity you believe in, and if not a deity, then cross all your fingers, legs, and toes. That’s how I felt. Crazed at the idea of that love being taken away.

I prayed so much, I prayed in my dreams. I asked others to pray too. Baby be safe. Baby be strong. I wanted the baby to come into this world and be held. Not by the saints or by God in heaven. I wanted the baby to be cradled by me, it’s mother, here on earth, in the flesh. God, I’m asking please. Please listen.

No heartbeat.

That’s when I turned away from God. I wouldn’t be human if I said my faith wasn’t shaken. Because I am hurt and angry and sorrowful.

Have I turned atheist? No.

Do I still believe in God? Yes.

Am I mad at God? YES!

Am I talking to God? I am taking a break as I tend to my grief. I feel let down. And don’t feel like talking to him right now. Except that I do, because I believe. So every once in a while I sneak in a plea. God, please take care of my baby up there.

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Mothers Day: A First, the Worst, and My Miracle Baby

Posted on May 15, 2013 // 34 Comments

I’ll never forget this year’s Mothers Day. I can’t imagine a year will go by, from now on, without me remembering it was the day I lost my baby.

After years of trying and struggling, Dean and I conceived our baby completely naturally. No thanks to science and all the specialists, fertility clinics, drugs, and medical procedures. We’d taken a break from it all, including acupuncture and all the dos/donts advised by the nutritionist. We were way too stressed with selling the house and busy with work that I figured we’d start the baby-making later. Ironically, it was during this stressful period that I got pregnant.

The shock on everyone’s faces when we found out we were pregnant was practically comedic, given the doctor’s recommendation that we be more aggressive and do IVF. Dean and I clasped ours hands ecstatically upon seeing the baby in the ultrasound with its heart beating. It was love at first sight. My heart swooned. When the doctor and the intern left the room, Dean and I jumped for joy. “We have a baby! This is our baby!”

My life changed instantly as I became laser-focused on the baby: pre-natal vitamins, a whole new nutrition plan. I stopped looking at my ever-present To Do List and made a point of resting and sleeping as soon as I came home from work. Every minute of every day, I kept thinking, “This baby is my whole life. It’s all about the baby.” I avoided certain San Francisco hilly streets because of the potential to fall. I stopped jay walking and used cross walks. I paid attention to traffic signals and was even more mindful of speedy renegade cars. I crossed the street to avoid smokers.

At the next ultrasound, the doctor said the baby wasn’t growing and that he’d expect to terminate in the next two weeks. We were excruciatingly devastated and I was beyond comfort. After processing the shock, I refused to give in. I had a baby still with a heartbeat inside of me and I had to be its advocate. For God’s sake, I am its mommy and my baby is relying on me! I have to be strong enough for the two of us. This was my miracle baby conceived against all odds. I was certain this baby was meant to be, meant to be born into this world, and held in my arms.

I prayed more than I ever have. I slept even more. I ate fresh fruit and vegetables every day. I sang lullabies and Broadway show tunes to the baby. I went for walks, sat outside, and soaked in the sun. I’ll distinctly remember getting chocolate chip cookies and whole milk, or vanilla malted milkshakes and enjoying the surprisingly good San Francisco weather with my baby. And I’ll forever be grateful that we got to take the baby on vacation to wine country.

As my weight increased and morning sickness set in, I felt the baby growing stronger. I hoped it would pull through. Then when blood appeared the Friday before Mothers Day, I was beside myself, sobbing uncontrollably in the bathroom. I knew it wasn’t a good sign.

On Mothers Day, we visited my family after attending mass. My mom greeted me by looking at my tummy and asked, “Getting bigger?” I broke down. My parents wrapped their arms around me, heartbroken at the news that I’d been progressively spotting more and more all weekend, and pained for their barren daughter. The following day, the doctor confirmed the baby had no heartbeat.

You may wonder how I can become so emotionally attached to a baby that was not even born. I’ll ask in response, when do mothers start loving their children? Is it only after they’re born? After its first cry? I’ll venture, as with me, it’s when you first realize you’re carrying a child or when the adoption papers are signed. It’s instant, unconditional love.

Losing this baby has been the most painful experience of my life. There is, and will forever be, a permanent hole in my heart. This is not some thing that can be replaced. I am not comforted by the potential of having another child. I am grieving over this unique baby, this human life form that was growing inside of me, that was half me, half the love of my life.

I know that so many of you prayed for me and the baby during this very difficult time. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for your support.

While we mourn our baby, we know our baby is in the good hands of God.

John 16:20-23

Jesus said, ‘Very truly, I tell you, you will weep and mourn, but the world will rejoice; you will have pain, but your pain will turn into joy. When a woman is in labor, she has pain, because her hour has come. But when her child is born, she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy of having brought a human being into the world. So you have pain now; but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.’

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On Raising Children without God

Posted on January 27, 2013 // 1 Comment

In one of the highest viewed posts to CNN’s iReport site, a contributor recently posted her views on religion in an article titled ‘Why I Raise My Children without God.’ While I am a regular church-going, daily-praying Catholic, I staunchly respect her view. Everyone has a right to their own opinion. What kind of society would we live in if we could force our religion, our politics, our personal beliefs on others? What would that say about our religion, our values, our ability at acceptance if we refused to acknowledge counter-points?

The CNN blogger rightly brings up interesting rebuttals to the presence of God. I understand that it would be difficult to believe in a deity who cannot be seen or heard. She writes, “No imaginary person is going to give us the answers or tell us why. Only we have the ability to be logical and to problem solve, and we should not abdicate these responsibilities to “God” just because a topic is tough or uncomfortable to address.” I can fully appreciate that instead of believing, she’s going to take accountability and work to solve problems. There are too many religious people who say that everything is God’s will which drives me bat-shit-cray-cray. God helps those who help themselves. Get it together, people!

I believe in God mainly because I was raised in the faith. If I hadn’t been forced to go to church every week, or attend Catholic schools, or pray every night, I probably wouldn’t believe either. Instead, I was immersed in Catholicism. My best friends believe. I married a man who, along with his family, shares my religion.

Did I ever question the existence of God? Of course, because I am a free thinker! But at the end of the day, I don’t have scientific evidence. I can’t give a powerpoint presentation with specific bullet points on why God is all-knowing. This is why it’s called faith. Is it blind faith? Of course not. Everyone has their own road to believe or not. But I can personally say that God listens. That is my truth and that’s what’s important. It’s actually all that matters.

Because religion is important to me, I will raise my child in the faith. That includes church, prayers, and all the rituals that go along with Catholicism. It includes private Catholic school which for me is non-negotiable. I want my kid to be loved by our faith, to love the faith, but most importantly to have a foundation of love and acceptance.

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Newtown Tragedy: God Does Not Kill

Posted on December 14, 2012 // Leave a Comment

I was riveted by the news on Friday morning, praying for the Sandy Hook elementary school. With less than two weeks to go before Christmas, there is a dark cloud over our country coping with another mass shooting. This time, the majority of the victims are very young children. Such a pit in my stomach.

Former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee commented that he’s not surprised this happened since God has been removed from the school system. “We really shouldn’t act all surprised…when all hell breaks loose.”

Sadly it was not Mr. Huckabee in the shooter’s line of fire!

God does not turn away from His people! God does not favor church-going members or Bible toters over others. This tragedy did not occur because of God.

Life happens because of people’s actions. Not God’s actions! God gave people free will to do whatever they damn well please. If they choose to pickup a gun and kill, then that is their choice. It is not God who kills.

When people use tragedies to question God’s presence, that’s where I need to step in and say my peace. They ask “If there’s a God, how can he let this happen?” God does not let these things happen. We do it ourselves. God did not create an idyllic society with a bunch of Stepford Wives. He created us, but we create our own world.

I am praying for Newtown and the families of the victims.

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Update: Church, Child, and Choice

Posted on August 15, 2012 // Leave a Comment

Like a good Catholic girl, I went to this site late last year and made note of all the holy days of obligation in my calendar. These are special days when you gotta go to church. Considering I go to church regularly (above and beyond the Christmas and Easter Catholics) and I attend during the holy days, I swear I deserve extra credit. So where, God, is my little rugrat? I’m teasing, I believe in God’s plan!

We are currently on insemination #4. In a previous post, I wrote about my $400+ Kaiser bill. Well I called them today and gave them a piece of my mind, starting with the fact that the column indicating how much I had paid didn’t stack up with my receipts. Also, there were obvious inconsistencies with their charges. “Why is it that an IUI costs $125 during one visit, yet the exact same procedure at the same facility costs $89 on a different day?” I contested. The rep calmly replied she would certainly look into it. “While you’re at it, please stop sending me notifications that I’m past due with my payments. I will not pay one cent until Kaiser gets their act together. Can you go ahead and make a note of that somewhere in my account?”

Oh yes back to the house of God. I’m at Old St. Mary’s for the 5:15pm mass for the Assumption which is the Virgin Mary’s assumption to heaven after she dies. While I’m there, I start thinking about the deaths at the Sikh temple, praying for those who died, and plotting my exit strategy if a cuckoo gun man came in. What has this world come to with so many senseless deaths, yet people insist on their right to bear arms. OMG. Really? Sick. It makes me sick.

I swear I would vote for any candidate who actually took actionable steps to control this issue. Instead I’ve got to choose between the lesser of two evils. Even though my CPA said I was essentially screwed tax-wise if Obama got re-elected, I cannot and will not vote for any candidate who is pro-life. It feels strange to write that because that means, what, that I’m anti-life? No! I believe in freedom and the rights of people to make their own decisions about how their affairs should be handled. White men (both political and religious), hands off women’s bodies.

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Summer Wedding

Posted on August 2, 2012 // Leave a Comment

Last weekend, we attended my friend’s wedding reception in El Dorado Hills, a suburb of Sacramento. I have to say, if I had to do my wedding all over again, I’d take a page from their book. The time between their engagement and their wedding was short which left zero time to fret the details and sweat. Engagements are typically a year, six months? So much time spent choosing a location, picking a venue, and staring at StyleMePretty.com.

The wedding took place in a Mormon temple nearby reserved for close family and friends. The reception was at the bride’s family’s home. We were greeted at the door starting with the bride’s parents, then the bride and groom, then the groom’s parents. So each guest felt welcome and got personalized attention. How many times do you go to a wedding and say, “Oh I never got to meet the father-in-law,” or something like that, where everyone is typically lost in the shuffle.

The food was great. They had a multitude of different types of wedding cakes. And they had Pinkberry! The actual frozen yogurt with your choice of flavors. Who doesn’t LOVE froyo?! There was cake cutting, music, dancing, laughing, lots of merriment.

I took some time to read the website they recommended on understanding their religion http://mormon.org/faq and found it fascinating. Their beliefs are rooted in Christianity, the Bible, and Jesus which is what the Catholic faith is based on. They differentiate themselves in believing that after Jesus died, the Church lost sight of the truth. They believe in the prophet Joseph Smith who was enlightened by God and translated his communications into the Book of Mormon. I have a lot of respect for their faith. Mormons are devout, close-knit, and extremely family-oriented.

We were seated at a table with a young attractive couple with three beautiful daughters. After chatting with them, Dean said, “You’re both so young and already have a big family.”

She laughed, “Well we are Mormon!”

A couple pics from the beautiful wedding.

Speaking of weddings, I know 4 couples who got engaged over a 10 day period recently. Unbelievable.

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Never Worked A Day in Her Life

Posted on April 11, 2012 // 2 Comments

I must weigh in on Democratic strategist Hilary Rosen’s attack on Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney’s wife Ann. In questioning Ann’s ability to relate to the masses, Hilary stated that Ann had never worked a day in her life. This set off Twitter mania and there isn’t anything I like more than a good debate. This is why I blog so people know what I think. I find it unbelievably surprising that the most popular blogs are design blogs, what rug goes with what couch; or celebrity blogs, who’s Kim Kardashian dating now. Who cares?

THIS is what matters. Politics, opinion, debate, thought. Anyone thinking out there?

Firstly, Hilary Rosen won’t and shouldn’t get her bonus this year. Her tirade was a blow to Obama’s campaign and a huge coup for the Republican party. You can think it, but DON’T SAY IT!

When I heard what Rosen said, I thought, that sounds like Ann Coulter—the ultraconservative darling of the Republican party. Can’t you hear Coulter saying to stay at home moms, “You never worked a day in your life.” Now if Coulter had said something of the sort, I swear to God, Fox News and the Republican party would back her up! That’s what I don’t understand. As soon as you get a Democrat professing her beliefs, it doesn’t matter where she lands, according to Republicans, she should be taken out back and shot!

I’m spawned from immigrant, working-class roots so I’ll scrutinize stay-at-home, soccer moms until I die. Even if I was well off, and became a stay-at-home, I’d still poke fun at the fact that I spent my days living the easy life compared to women out there who have to work and also generate income!

Mrs. Romney has no idea what that’s like. I have no doubt that raising 5 boys is tough, but what the fuck was she doing when they were in school full time? What the hell was she doing when they left home? Yes, she was sick and had health issues to deal with. But she should be honest and tell the voting public that she has no inkling what it’s like to be in OUR shoes. Maybe she has worked hard, but the woman never made a single penny in her whole life. That’s the truth.

I do not know whether I’m going to vote for Obama or Romney. I will decide over time. But this particular debate is crucial.

Presidential candidate Mitt Romney, you’re telling me that your wife worked hard raising your sons. That’s awesome. You say it’s hard work being a mother. That’s great. But it’s only ok to be that kind of mother if she’s fully supported financially by a millionaire like you. What about the mothers out there with 5 kids who also have to work? You plan on cutting government support programs for them. Eliminate Planned Parenthood. Away with food stamps. Restrict abortions. How does any of that make sense? Yet you admit that being a mother is hard work. What, then, Mr. Future Potential President, are YOU going to do for the working woman?!?!?!?

The hypocrisy has me steamed. At this point, Obama, I’m on your side.

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A Parable for Penn State

Posted on November 12, 2011 // Leave a Comment

By now we’re all completely infuriated by the Sandusky scandal, but what really gets my blood boiling are the insensitive people who protested in support of coach Joe Paterno. My God! They are just as bad as the administration who covered up the sexual abuse. These are people who value sport, championship, and legacy over the well-being of children. Disgusting. They make me want to fly out there and give each one of them a thousand lashings.

At church on Sunday, I spent the whole Mass slumped over in a pew, but still listening.

The gospel was a parable about a master who gave each of his three servants a bag of gold. I’m paraphrasing here, but two of the servants doubled the master’s wealth and were rewarded. One servant took the bag of gold and essentially buried it. Tada, there was no wealth generation and the master severely castigated him. You can deduce that the point of the parable is to fucking make something of your life. Don’t be a useless nobody clueless on how to cultivate your inherent talent.

I truly admire the priest who gave a homily that spoke to current events, to something that we were all thinking about, and how we can learn from the scripture. He said that God will be judging Sandusky as he judges all of us. And who do you want to be? Do you seek God’s favor, or do you not?

I’m also proud of him for saying this:

“I want you to hear this from a priest, a catholic priest. If you ever see a child being abused or touched in any inappropriate way, go to the police. Don’t tell your superior, or a priest, or a confidante. Go to the police. A crime is being committed.”

He prefaced that by saying the priests at St. Dominic’s have to go through rigorous screenings, attend child abuse training classes, etc, but yeah look where that’s gotten the catholic church. Uhh, nowhere. So again, I’m so glad that he spoke up for the right protocol.

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The Drunk Double Major

Posted on August 10, 2011 // Leave a Comment

The first time I got drunk was my third year of college. Pretty good considering I’d started drinking even before my teens, playing spin the bottle with sugary wine coolers—Seagram’s Tahitian Sunset—kiddie alcohol.

But by the time I finished freshman year of college, I’d built up a fierce tolerance to mixed drinks and straight alcohol. So much so that the bragging rights came spewing. “I can drink you under the table,” I’d challenge to anyone who’d listen. I meant it, too. Bright-eyed and mentally-capable, I could spend the night drinking, then split open a textbook on molecular science for an hour of late night reading. I considered that light reading, lighter than a Shakespeare comedy. The periodic table I got, iambic pentameter—not so much.

All that changed the night we walked up toward the Berkeley hills to a fraternity party. Friends from the dorm days had rushed, joined, and were now part of a good group of guys who welcomed old and new friends into their home. They threw festive parties with bars setup in rooms all over the house with hip hop echoing from boom boxes and more alcohol changing hands than a week of transactions at your local BevMo.

It was Goldschlager night. The drinking games had already commenced by the time we arrived. I muscled my way into the action and warmed up with a shot. The volume of alcohol I consumed always caused concern, which I dismissed. “I don’t get drunk.” Wuh? “I said, I don’t get drunk!”

The guys must have thought, who is this Napoleonette?

The night deteriorated into a frenzy of shots. I found it laughable how much more I could stock away in my 100 pound frame than these burly men. I felt invincible and proud. Gawd, I just don’t get drunk do I? I must have had exactly 10 shots give or take a couple.

Back at home, in my jammies, I fluffed up my pillow and lay down for a restful sleep.

My eyes opened immediately. Why is everything spinning? I felt sick sitting in bed. I ran to the bathroom where I spent the rest of the night, cheek pressed against the cool toilet seat. Please God, make it stop. I promise I won’t ever drink again. The mental bragging rights came crumbling as I spewed obscenities in-between puke.

Until now I thought it was the alcohol, but really hubris had been the problem all along. That’s a sobering insight learned 15 years later. I should have stayed focused on Shakespeare and Greek tragedies instead of mucking around with those damn chemical reactions.

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Funeral and Faith

Posted on July 2, 2011 // Leave a Comment

I attended the funeral today of my uncle who died suddenly and unexpectedly from a rare, acute form of leukemia. Even on a normal day, I consider myself emotionally hypersensitive. So seeing my aunt red-eyed and hearing people’s voices start to crackle, I couldn’t stop the tears from dropping.

But there were a couple things that consoled me. Primarily, the priest’s homily was very powerful. I go to church all the time. I’ve heard a bazillion homilies. Most of them are boring. On any given Sunday, you can find me dozing off on a pew, catching some ZZZs waiting for the priest to finally shut up. But this funeral homily really moved me. The priest talked about humanity’s fear of dying and our feelings of loss when we lose someone. All of those feelings are obviously very real and painful. Then he asked us if we had faith. Now most Filipinos are Catholic. Almost all Filipinos believe in God. So when you ask us if we have faith, by golly, we Filipinos have faith!

His message was uplifting and hopeful because he asked us to draw on our faith which is rooted in the promise of Jesus Christ—that in dying we will rise again. Jesus’s resurrection put an end to death as we know it. That there is another life, a better peaceful life. That is our religion. If I didn’t believe, then there’d be a lot more tears.

Rituals, also, are very consoling. The prayers that we say together. The songs that we sing from memory. I think normally we take rituals for granted, but when we bury one of our own, they become significant.

When someone dies without warning, you start questioning if you’re taking people for granted, whether you’re spending enough time with your loved ones. When you interact with someone, might it be the last time? Losing someone is hard, but family and faith make it bearable.

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