Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree

For the 3rd year in a row, my family went to a local tree farm today to pick out our Christmas tree.  When you visit this family owned tree farm, you walk through the fields in search of your family's perfect tree.  Once you find it, you flag down an employee who will chop it down for you, then you carry it to the front lot where they shake the loose needles off, bundle it up, and tie it to the top of your car. 

For me, a visit to this particular tree farm makes me a little nostalgic for a time long ago when I was a little girl.  For two reasons. 

First, it reminds me of the tree stand that my parents ran for a couple of winters when we lived in Oklahoma.  We lived there from 1977-1980, but I can't remember if they did the tree stand all 3 winters we were there.  I do remember sitting in a little trailer with a portable heater at our feet, our bodies all bundled up from the cold, and my dad in a full length Carhartt-type snow suit for men so that he could help people carry their trees to their cars. Who knew Oklahoma could be so cold?!  It's a fuzzy picture in my mind, but it's there - a childhood memory that I conjure up every Christmas.

Second, although my family never got our Christmas tree at the tree farm we visited today, I always knew exactly where it was. It is on the same road as the farm where my mom was raised, a Century Farm that was owned by her family for over 100 years.  As I drive up and down the hills of the long gravel road, I remember all the trips to Grandma's house - the yummy smells from the kitchen, the long walks with uncles and cousins in the timber, playing in the cool water of the creek, hiking over the hill of the cornfield from Grandma's house to my uncle's house to see his family, and the farm animals scattered all over the farm. 

I pointed out the lane for the farm to my children as we passed by it, and told them that it's a long lane with a big white house at the end.  It always seemed endless to me, especially when we had to walk down it in the middle of the winter or during a muddy spring when our car just couldn't make the trek.  My son said he could see the house, but I know what he really saw was just the top of the old barn set back behind the house. 

 

In my mind, though, I can still see the view from the top of the hill:

The "little timber" would be on our right, and a garage housing trucks, tractors, and various parts beyond that.  A big white house sits just inside a fence and gate.  Just in front of it to the left is an old chicken coop, and a grain type shed set up further than that.  As you approach the house, a 2nd lane is on the right, behind the lilac bushes, and leads to the barn, cow pastures, more fields, hog lots, and the "big timber". 

 

If you walk behind the house, you see the sprawling orchard.  To the left of that is the field that, at one time or another, housed a goat, a fallen tree "fort", and a path to more pigs and sheds.  Straight back from the house is Grandma's garden where you can find nearly every vegetable in abundance before it makes its way to the kitchen and the cellar in jars. 

 

Walk along the path next to the garden and come to the rickety old gate that seems so large to a girl of 7, but probably isn't that big to an adult.  Climb over and you're in the yard of the falling down "old house", the home where 6 children were raised until their new house was built. 

 

Head over another fence to the grain bin and the big old barn, but pick up a big stick before you cross over into the pig lot.  You never know when one might charge at you!  Keep walking along the path and head for the big trees, the timber.  Keep an eye open for the bulls that are out there somewhere, but they'll leave you alone if you keep your distance.  You might get lucky and catch a glimpse of a deer, or feel the minnows between your toes in the mud of the creek, and you might find some pretty little wild flowers to take back to Grandma.  And she'll place those flowers tenderly in a jelly jar and set them on the window ledge above her kitchen sink. 

The main farm was sold in 2007, shortly before my uncle chose to end his life in the house where he was raised.  We were all there to clean out the house after his funeral - my mom, her siblings, my cousins.  We found many old things hidden away in the attics, memories my parents and aunts and uncles had stashed away long ago.  Blue 4-H jackets, cowboy hats and boots, long forgotten wedding gifts that were still in packages, baby clothes meant to be saved and remembered, cribs used for the many grandchildren who had visited over the years, books and notebooks from school days, and pictures.  We shared many laughs and smiles, and many more tears as we remembered all those loved ones who were gone from this world. 

 

We all grabbed something, or thingS, that we wanted to save and transport to our own homes.  For me, the medal sign and certificate that declared the land a "Century Farm", a few clothing items worn by me and my siblings, some of my Grandmother's dishes, my Godfather's 4-H jacket, and an old budget record book kept in my Grandma's handwriting that documented the debits and credits of the family farm. 

 

Real objects that stir the pool of memories.

 

It's all there.  Locked in my mind.  A distant childhood memory that I can see, clear as day, as if it just happened yesterday.  A memory that I wish could come alive now for my children so that they could live it and see my happy childhood days for themselves.  Hopefully my memories are clear enough that I can paint them a picture of that place through my stories.  And hopefully I'll tell the story a little more often than just once a year, in late November, on the way to the tree farm down the road.

 

Conception and Misperception

A few years ago, I was relocated to a different school in my district for one school year due to a flood that destroyed my city and school.  I experienced a lot of sadness that year like losing everything in my classroom, being separated from the staff and families that I had been with for so many years, and not knowing the status of my future placement with the district.  I also experienced a lot of joy that year like the birth of my second child, reconnecting with old friends who happened to teach in the building I was assigned to, and meeting wonderful new friends in my new placement as well.  One of those new friends, JP, was so welcoming and friendly, and I really enjoyed getting to know her.  It would be a few years later, however, before I would realize how amazing JP really is.

Thanks to the internet, blogging, and facebook, I learned recently that JP is pregnant for the fourth time.  She had two children early on in life, then became a single mother raising those two children.  She is not ashamed to say that she and her two children lived on food stamps, and she took out student loans to put herself through school to become a teacher.  She became a full-time working single mother of two, and started working in a low income school.  I'm told that she did it all with a big smile on her face, a positive attitude, and a gratefulness in her heart for all that she had. 

When I met her, she had met a nice man whom she married, and she had a third child to complete their family.  She was so happy!  So I was not completely shocked when she announced that she was pregnant again. 

What did shock me was the fact that it is NOT her baby!

This amazing woman that I am so happy to know, is a surrogate for a couple who live in another country.  When I learned that, I thought to myself, "Wow, she is such a giving person, that is so awesome!"  I also read between the lines of her blog posts and interpreted her comments with my own perceptions of what reality is. 

She said, "I am so excited for the Intended Parents" and I assumed, "Oh, that couple can't get pregnant so they have to get a surrogate." 

She said, "One of the IP's immediately called his mom to tell her the baby is a boy" and I assumed, "I wonder if his wife cried when she heard him talking to his mom about their baby."

She said, "The size of the baby will depend more on the the egg donor and the Intended Parent" and I assumed, "That poor woman doesn't have her own egg AND she can't carry her baby."

All of my assumptions were clarified with JP's most recent blog post when she said, "They will make such great Daddies!"

I literally dropped my mouth open and gasped. 

Is it a big deal to me that they are two men wanting a baby?  No.  Do I care if two men want to be fathers?  No.  I am disappointed in myself that I ASSUMED that it was a man and a woman, the "traditional" parents.  Why shouldn't the Intended Parents be two men or two women?  I am even more proud of JP that she is taking this giant leap and speaking so matter-of-factly about something that is not "the norm". 

I can imagine that carrying a baby for someone else would be an incredibly emotional experience, and I'm not sure that I am strong enough to take that leap for a friend, much less a stranger, as JP is doing.  I have often said that I would do it for someone I love like my sister, but would I?  I have a friend who wants to be a mother so badly, but she is having trouble getting pregnant.  I told her the story of JP, and I said to her, "I think I would do that for someone I love."  My friend stopped in her tracks and asked if I was serious, like maybe she was feeling me out as an option for her if she came to that point in her baby efforts.  So, would I do it for her?  I would like to think that I would do it for her, for any close friend or family member who asked me and so desparately wanted a baby.  But I can't guarantee that my answer would be yes.  Maybe it would be easier to do it for someone knowing that you would be able to see that child, watch him/her grow, and always be a part of his/her life.  I think that's what makes JP's experience more remarkable.  She's not doing it for any monetary gain.  She likely won't ever see the child again since they live in another country and are strangers.  She is just doing it because she wants to bring the joy of parenting to a couple who might not otherwise get to experience it. 

And aren't we all entitled to experience joy and love?  It shouldn't matter who we choose for a partner, but rather what we have to offer a child.  Joy and love would top my list of things to give, before a Mommy AND a Daddy. 

Best wishes to the tiny gift JP is carrying for his new Daddies.  And best wishes to the Daddies as they embark on this incredible journey called "Parenting". 

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

Someone in my book club recommended we read "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks" by Rebecca Skloot.  If I am perfectly honest, I wasn't overly excited about the choice.  I was worried there would be a lot of medical terms that I would not understand.  What I found, however, was a nonfiction book that pulls you in and reads like fiction.

Henrietta Lacks was a 31-year old woman when she died of cervical cancer at Johns Hopkins Hospital.  She was the mother of five children ages 11-months to 16-years at her death. 

One of my greatest fears has always been that I would die and my children would not remember me or even really know me.  I felt so drawn to Henrietta because my fear was her reality.

I learned a much more remarkable thing about Henrietta's death:  her cells (HELA) continued to live way beyond her 1951 death.  A doctor at Johns Hopkins took some of Henrietta's cells without either Henrietta's or her family's consent, and those cells were used in research studies at Johns Hopkins.  Remarkably, the cells also continued to divide and live on, something I don't completely understand, but was clearly amazing to the scientists who possessed the HELA cells.  The cells were then shared, although it is unclear if they were bought and sold, with other scientists at other institutions. 

The HELA cells were used in countless studies over the years, and her family never knew.  Even more remarkable, her family never received any monetary benefit of any kind over the many years that HELA cells were used.  That information itself does not upset me as much as the fact that her children were so poor they could not afford medical care.  Their mother's cells were used to advance medicine in so many ways, and they could not afford prescriptions for heart, stroke, and kidney diseases. 
I find that so sad and so unforgivable.  If Henrietta were alive to give her consent, if she had said, "Yes, take my cells but always take care of my babies", would the outcome really be any different?  Not likely.  And that too makes me very sad. 

All I can do now all these years later, upon my discovery of Henrietta Lacks and HELA cells, is to tell others about this amazing book, this amazing chapter in the history of science and medicine.  And hope that others read it, learn from it, and never allow such a travesty of justice to occur again in the name of science and medicine.

Thank you, Henrietta, for sharing yourself with all the world.