Marianne to God:

Dear God, I finally had the courage to talk with my neighbor, the one I kept avoiding because she said hurtful things about my pregnancy/having a premature baby with challenges. I know my neighbor has her own regrets in Life — that she wasn't able to have children, that she barely talks to her sister, although in our conversation tonight she said she was glad she didn't have children because she would be scared the whole nine months that the child wouldn't be "perfect" and that even when the babies are healthy they might marry the wrong person, etc etc.

The truth is, God, you've made me realize that my neighbor simply says out loud what I wonder and obsess about — so she voices it and then I think, "She's right." That's it.

Tonight she said, "You know Marianne, I don't think God was with you when you were pregnant and had the baby so early." And you know, God, that is what I wonder.

And here's the bigger thing, the bigger secret that I keep dwelling on. My maternal grandmother committed suicide when my Mom was about 11 or 12. It was, and is, a huge family secret. I never really knew, not really. Even when I was in high school and asked my mother how her mother, my grandmother, died, she said bits of things such as, "She fell", or, "They found her at the bottom of the stairs." Even then I knew not to press the topic.

It was only when I took my mother to her elementary school reunion that one of her best friends told me, in front of my mother, that another classmate had told my mother, "Oh I remember you; you're the one whose mother committed suicide." It actually seemed to be the best way that my Mom could confront what had happened, to tell me, with her oldest and dearest friends by her side.

And God, my Mom had such a difficult life. She often tried to put up a brave front, but she smoked heavily (eventually dying of lung cancer) and had drinking problems off and on. Among other sorrows, such as a first husband who cheated on her, my Dad also died of lung cancer six months after my brother was killed in Viet Nam. And before my mother had me, she had several miscarriages, and one or two following me (my brother was 8 years older than me and adopted, another type of secret I have kept quiet to virtually all my friends).

And certainly because of those things, my life has had its share of sorrow. I too have had an unhealthy first relationship, and while I'm happily married now, we are under lots of stress with our son's precarious health and more recently, house maintenance problems. I have had two miscarriages — both very physically and psychologically painful.

So, God, what am I getting to? I cannot let go of the feeling that I deserve this pain both because of the suicide of my grandmother and my own mistakes/sins. Negative karma. I remember reading in a couple of places, "the sins of the father will be vested upon the son," and in another place something about the karma being taken on by relatives to some degree. I cannot seem to understand my life any other way.

Sometimes I feel so exhausted and afraid of what will come next. I hate to even write that but those are my honest feelings. But what's worse is not having an understanding or faith that sustains me; maybe if I knew: Look, that's what happened — your grandmother did these things and you have to "pay"; or — you are your grandmother reincarnated, and you have to unwind the wheel of karma and this is it — that would help me accept my life with grace. What is my dharma — to accept my situation with "grace" and work wholeheartedly in my job and family — I gather that's it.

But God, please, please help me to have energy, strength, to feel some enthusiasm more consistently. I pray, pray for your help every day. But I seem to falter every day. I told my husband the other day that I just don't seem to be able to have plans like others do — my coworker can plan to get pregnant in September, have the baby in May, take a leave for the summer, etc etc and she does.

The last time I remember telling someone my plan about leave of absence in the fall for my due date, I had Joseph in the summer. God, please help me rise above this self-pitying rumination, but at the same time I sure could use a hug from someone who would let me cry for about a day non-stop! Sometimes I imagine being enfolded in the long robes/gown of Mother Mary, just hiding there, feeling safe, like a little child. I know I must be strong for my son — I've been told that. I was also told as a child to "be strong for your mother."

I'm tired, God.

Love, Marianne

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God's answer to Marianne will appear tomorrow. — Gloria