A friend of mine today mentioned not being very religious. Religion is a funny thing. You either are, or you are seventeen thousand things in-between. Very few AREN’T. Or at least aren’t willing to admit they aren’t. Then you have the loonies who are so ACLU oriented that they seem to forget where reality is and live constantly in a world of litigation. I can make fun of them, I have a law degree from a fairly upper class law school. I don’t USE it, but I have it. Actually, I hate lawyers. Of course, the caveat to that is that if I did USE my degree, I probably would be a good bit more ‘well off’ than I am currently.

 

But alas, I was one of those 60’s hippies that was more interested in helping the disadvantaged and downtrodden than I was in pursing the mighty dollar. I did practice for a bit, in Oregon a thousand years ago. I was with the public defender’s office in Portland, Multnomah county. I couldn’t represent the baby raper’s, wife beater’s etc. I was supposed to be studying to take the bar, instead I transferred to legal services, and started investigating slumlords. Believe me when I tell you that Portland Oregon had some BODACIOUS slumlords too.

They had these thingys, legally they were called SRO’s which stood for single room occupancy hotel rooms. We called them chicken coops. They were absolutely horrid. The conditions that the ‘derelicts’ lived in were abhorrent. Imagine if you can, living in a room smaller than a cell. And the filth. Ughh. Then, there were the projects. Substandard electricity, lighting, filthy conditions, garbage everywhere.

I remember in particular, one day I heard a baby crying. It didn’t stop. Finally I located the apt that the baby crying sound was emanating from. There was also loud music. Why I could hear the baby over the music is totally beyond me. I knocked. Again. Again. And yet again. No answer. Finally, me and my bad assed self, I kicked the door in.

Now that sounds respectable, but in truth, those doors could be opened by a savvy six year old with a weak wrist. But it sounds cool to say I kicked the door in.

And yes, the baby was still crying. And the six guys sitting on the couch and chairs getting stoned were totally oblivious to the baby crying. After I yelled at them, got the baby out and called the baby’s mom to come home from work, and then cussed out the baby’s worthless father and called him everything in the world except a good father…..I inspected the apartment and turned it in to be remodeled.

I wasn’t afraid though. My sister was TWEAKING. Now, it doesn’t matter to me a whole lot, but I am white. And the apartment was full of men of color. Since I was raised civilized, I don’t exactly see color? But most people do.

My sister is one of them. To me, that is just wrong. The baby’s father deserved to be yelled at, but only because he was a jerk.

But my sister was upset because I typically worked with people who were not upper middle class caucasian’s. I however, was known throughout the lower strata of Portland as “the legal aid lady” and as such, along with my scintillating (she said sarcastically) personality, enjoyed a "bye" as it were from harassment on any quarter.

The thing is, people knew I was a people too. I wasn’t some high mucky muck f’d up lawyer who looked down my aquiline roman nose at them. In the second instance, I am not roman, I am a redheaded irish/gaelic girl; and as for my nose, it is slightly snubbed, upturned and not long and aquiline at all.

I am almost, but not quite, the furthest thing from normal that you can get.

But, I do love. And I believe, that is the essence of Godism. I don’t care if you like MY God or not. And, I don’t have to like your God either. As long as I like my God, and you like YOUR God, I’m good with that. Unless, YOUR God doesn’t like ANYONE, then you are fucked up and I don’t’ want to know you anyway.

I don’t like people who hate. I have a problem with hate. Hate of any sort, any time, anywhere. I will call bullshit on hate every single time it rears its ugly head. I despise hate. Moreover, I despise people who hate and hide it behind something else.

Now, there is a real dichotomy.

See I am Catholic. Now that is not exactly a religion that has popular press lately. But my basic feeling is that God is probably pretty pissed at the Catholics too. I certainly am. That doesn’t stop me from going to church though. Why should it. See, well then, there is the Pope, now he and supposedly God are against Gays.

Well, I am NOT against gays. I am happily married and straight. But I have no issues or problems with gay people. AND i don't particularly feel that God is against ANYONE at all, except assholes.

The (my) church is against birth control. I am in favor of birth control. As a personal thing, I am anti-abortion, only in that I don’t believe in killing. I think abortion is a bad choice and that responsible birth control is a much better choice. But I won’t hate you if you have an abortion. If you are my friend, I will go to the clinic with you and not preach at you. Oh, to stop the killing, I will tell you , if asked, that I think there are better ways to deal with an unwanted pregnancy. But I don’t and won’t hate you for having one. I have no problem with the morning after pill. I think it’s a GREAT idea. Okay, semantics here. Is a fertilized ovum a life? I just don’t go there, that’s all. It’s a bit of a cop out. Yes. I am aware of that.

So we get back to the whole God issue. Here is where it gets a bit sticky. As some of you know, the whole four people who actually READ my blog, i have three granddaughters. Two of them live with us and are being raised by us.

The oldest, who lives with us was born normally. She was of an appropriate birth weight. She looked great. We all cooed and cried and all of those family things you do when a baby is born. We had 27 people there for the birth. Not all of them were in the room, but we have a huge extended family and in it, births are considered a family event, not a private event.

We went home, about an hours drive.

We had JUST gotten home when the phone rang and it was my daughter, hysterical. Now when i say hysterical, dry typing, white paper, it does not convey what i mean.

I mean ****H Y S T E R I C A L****. As in sobbing so hard you cannot breathe hysterical.

“mommy, they took my baby to NICU”.

Okay. Get up, grab Dave, try to talk, put clothes back on. Get in car. Sit and finger a necklace that i have worn for years that my best friend gave me. Dave drives, i am a WRECK. He isn’t all that great either, but he’s a guy and they have to be guys sometimes.

On the necklace is a religious medal.

Now, when i was in undergraduate college, i needed a minor. You don’t now, but you did then. So, figuring it was a cake walk, i picked religious studies. And promptly turned agnostic. (a common occurrence actually).

And stayed that way until that night.

Meanwhile, back in the car. I am crying so hard that i cannot see. I take my glasses off (which by the way is the ONLY way i can read little type). And low and behold, on that religious medal is printed a petition.

(see, that’s how you really do know i am Catholic. Anyone else would mistake it for a prayer, but since we are only supposed to PRAY to God or Jesus, it has to be a petition for another supernatural entity to PRAY for us.)

And so, being desperate, being a mom, being a new grandmother, and having NO SCRUPLES WHATSOEVER about my previous beliefs ( or lack thereof), and ready to make any deal necessary, i say the petition over and over for the ENTIRE DRIVE.

We get to Tod Children’s hospital. My daughter and her husband are outside on the steps having a cigarette. Dave stays out there with them.

I go immediately in.

Takes an act of Congress to get into the NICU. Who are you, what are you doing here, scrub up at this sink, etc. etc.

Finally, i go through the doors.

The nurse grabs me and says, “you are the mother’s mother?” i am like YES. She says to me, you had best prepare your daughter, this baby will not make it through the night.

I didn’t faint. But i did ask what was wrong. They said they had no clue, but the baby’s temp was 108% farenheit.

That is a fatal temperature for a baby, or for an anything at all.

She takes me to see the baby. She is lying in an isolette, full of tubes and things now. She is restless. Hot to the touch. Burning hot. She does NOT look well at all.

I fall to my knees and pray. The nurse turns away to give me privacy. It has been almost 7 years now, and i still cry when i try to tell this, or even type it. I am still fingering the necklace with the medal on it. I am still saying the petition over and over, i am too upset to even focus my mind enough to say anything that requires thought in any form from me. The medal FALLS OFF THE NECKLACE INTO MY HAND.

I stand up, and ask the nurse if i can put the medal in the isolette with the baby.

She says NO and hands me a piece of tape and turns her back again. I touch the medal to the baby’s little forehead.

I kiss the baby, and say, Blessed Mary, if this baby has to die, take care of her for us, but if she doesn’t, please go find your Son and make him save her.

I tape the medal over the baby’s head. I go outside for a minute to have a cigarette.

I come back in about 10 minutes later. The nurse grabs me and says, WHAT DID YOU DO TO THAT BABY. I am freaking out now, WHY, is she OKAY, what happened. The nurse bursts into tears and I think OMG, the baby died, i was outside having a cigarette and my first grandchild died, what a piece of shit i am.

The nurse says to me. Her temperature is normal.

NOW, that is a hard one to not pay attention to ya know?

It actually gets better. They eventually find out what was the matter. And 90 % of the babies that get it die. Of the 10% who do NOT die, 99% of them are profoundly retarded.

She lived (she was still in NICU for three weeks).

She is in first grade and reads on an eighth grade level.

She does math on a third/fourth grade level.

She is beautiful. (that is NOT just me, she actually won the most beautiful baby in the tri state area contest at age 1 - well her picture did. I would NEVER put a baby in a contest..gross)

She is delightful and wonderful and precious, as are all children.

So, profoundly affected by this was i, that the baby has Mary as her saint’s name. we are irish. The irish give the baby the saint’s name at baptism, not confirmation.

And, since then, i am no longer an agnostic. I am a believer. I don’t have one iota of faith. I have a sure and present KNOWLEDGE. So, even though I still have ISSUES with my church, i have NO issues with God. And i will keep those two firmly and completely separate for my entire life.

God will be with me forever. The church and i may part, who knows.

Way to deep, but felt like this blog needed done. Now i will go back to my old flaky self.