If we all know change is the one constant in life we can count on why in the world are so many of us resistant to accepting it (let alone anticipate it)? Most of us see change as a thief in the night. Robbing us of what we know - sneaking away with our slobber soaked blanky that gave us years of a false sense of constancy.

Today I quickly embrace change. I begin looking for ways to adjust to and conquer my new circumstances. I've not always had this attitude . . .

When hard hitting change challenged me I began the battle of a lifetime. I became a warrior readied to defeat change at any cost. There will be no acceptance, not for me . . . this is the hill I'm going to die on. That was a conscious choice (I now know) but at the time it all felt forced on me. I was 29 years of age. My husband (at the time) and I were trying to conceive a child. It just wasn't happening and not for the lack of trying. We knew he wasn't the problem; he had three children from a previous marriage. Must be me.

Upon the recommendation of a dear friend I visited Dr. W. Nicest guy ever. Father of seven who indeed understood my want (now obsession) to have a child. This was in 1985. Long story short . . . what was suppose to be a 30 minute out patient procedure to scrape a few fibroids off my ovaries ( the reason, they thought, I couldn't get preggers) turned out to be a seven hour, holy guacamole, take all my reproductive organs barn burner!

I woke from surgery clouded in confusion. Why are all these people here? Um, is that my boss? Wait . . . is that Mom and Dad's neighbor? Suddenly my husband appeared at my bedside with lips moving like a weed whacker on high speed. He looked like he had been on a week long bender and his speech seemed slurred! I looked around the small hospital room, still befuddled, and noticed everyone looked like they had been drinking! Red, watery eyes. Pink, dripping noses. It was all so surreal. I was so focused on the circus-like fish-eye lens faces smiling at me, staring at me, I could not understand one word my husband was saying to me. Wah waaah wah wah waaaaah waah wah wah, that's all I heard. And then the crying. Okay, what in the blue blazes is going on here!?

Finally I see a familiar face which has no distortion. Dr. W! I was so happy to see him. Talk to me dude . . . my entire family and circle of friends have gone bonkers! And then I get:

"Mary Ellen, he says sternly, you have an advanced stage of ovarian cancer. To save your life (for now) a team of doctors had to perform a complete hysterectomy. We also had to take parts of other organs that were diseased. Your chances of surviving this are slight. As soon as your body can take it you will receive 9 courses of very aggressive chemical therapy (I soon learned the term "chemo") over a period of 12 months."

(My God, how did he get all that out in only one breath? Pretty darn impressive fast talking there doc!)

At this point I still can't talk. However, there was mind numbing screaming going on in my head . . . . wait . . . wait . . . wait!!! "Does this mean I can't have children?" "Does this mean I can't have children?" "Does this mean I can't have children?" Somebody? Anybody?

Finally when I was able to speak, exhausted from all that silent screaming, I asked my question. "Does this mean I can't have children?" The crescendo from the family choir was abrupt . . . YES! You must not think about that! You must focus on the life saving measures before you! It's about your life! It isn't about children you will never know!

What? NOOOOOOOOO!!! It never occurred to me this could happen. My siblings and cousins and friends were spitting kids out like penny slot machines gone haywire. Most infuriating was watching everybody who loved me dismiss my unborn children (that's how it seemed to me). They wanted me to fight to save my life. I get it. That was the target . . . the bull's eye. I get it. They all needed to see the happy-go-lucky optimist that is me. I get it. They didn't want me to feel what I was feeling . . . less of a woman. I get it. All I wanted? Fight for my unborn children. I want MY babies. It's the 20th century for God's sake. Figure it out. Can't we make a prosthetic uterus? Well . . . can we?

I didn't just dig my feet into the proverbial sand . . . I cemented myself in to ensure no forward movement. I wasn't going anywhere until I had my babies. Bring back the time when I thought I could. Give me back the joyous notion of carrying my child. Oh the inhumanity of it all!!!

Unbeknownst to people around me . . . just under the surface of my fraudulent smile . . . was an ever growing resentment. No one knew the convulsive rage I felt every time I saw a pregnant woman. No one knew how difficult it was to truly participate in the lives of my beautiful nieces and nephews. They weren't mine. When I looked in their tiny perfect faces I did not see ME . . . I saw my sisters' faces or the face of my brother. Nothing of ME . . . nothing. It was a cruel and relentless ache knowing I would never hear the most pure of utterances . . . declared to ME . . . "I love you mommy. I love you sssooo much."

Some how God will reverse this horrible mistake. I prayed. I begged. I bargained. I became a phony. Spent some years masking and decorating my resentment (whom I eventually named Anger). Loved ones would ask, with sincere affection, "how are you?". "Do you need anything?" I would lie right to their faces. Look them in the eye and say "I'm great. Couldn't be better". I received much praise for the hope and courage I displayed during my year of chemo. I was known as the cancer patient who laughs through it all. Ah! Don't get me wrong. I did fight hard and I did have a hopeful attitude and I did choose to laugh. The phony part comes in because I wouldn't tell anyone the deepest sadness of my life. What they didn't know? What I would not tell them? The Mary Ellen they knew stayed in the operating room. And slowly dripping onto the cold floor were my guts and glory . . . and the spirit of all I was meant to be.

Late at night when alone in a corner of my dark room, I secretly, cautiously invited Anger to come play. I nourished her, like any good mommy would. I honored and praised her, like a good mommy. I was such a good mommy. Anger became my lost child and I loved her. For pity's sake, I'm an Irish Catholic girl . . . born and raised to be a mother. Who couldn't possibly understand my anger!

Under my devoted care Anger was flourishing. Soon my sweet Anger was in control. I didn't have the insight to see it because I loved not having to see past her. She was such a good excuse. I don't have to accept my circumstances because of her. Oh, those facetious mothers (Anger whispering in my ear) . . . telling us how lucky we are to be child free; none of the work and worry. Foot loose and fancy free. I swear there was a day when Anger and I contemplated mass murder . . . had we heard one more mother lie to us by saying they would gladly give us their children!! Anger became my closest confidant - we decided against mass murder that day and voted for alienating family and friends.

After years of my slow boil departure from the lives of my nieces and nephews (who adored me) I woke one day to something that startled me to the core . My sister calling excited to tell me something about her oldest doing something fabulous in high school. Really? She's in high school? When did that happen? How did that happen? Where was I? We only lived a few miles from each other. I looked in the mirror that day and didn't see my reflection. I saw my best friend, my confidant, my child . . . Anger. Oh dear God in heaven . . . what have I done? I sank to the floor and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I cried for the loss imposed upon me. And then I cried for the loss I imposed upon myself. I had never grieved my loss. I kept waiting to wake up from the gut-wrenching nightmare of it all. That day I picked up my bloodied spirit from that operating room floor and saw it still held light. I said goodbye to my unborn children and my frienemy Anger.

It came to me in lightning bolt fashion . . . because I was unwilling to accept the change in my life . . . I could not see what was right in front of me. Children! Lots of them! Children who love their Aunt Mary Ellen. Children who missed their Aunt Mary Ellen. I also couldn't see the adventures, of my life, were just around the corner. I changed my mind that day. Stood up. Wiped my face. Accepted my circumstance. Thanked God for the insight. Held my sister close in my heart. I called that beautiful niece who was achieving in high school. We met for breakfast and I asked for her forgiveness (which she freely gave). What she said will never leave me "it's okay Aunt Mary Ellen I love you". I quickly responded with "no sweetheart it wasn't okay . . . but it is now". From that point on, I decided I would actually LIVE my life not pine for a life that will never be.

Fast forward 20 plus years . . . that beautiful niece of mine is now married with two beautiful children of her own. I am very close to my great-niece and my great-nephew. Oh they are delightfully smart and creative. A few years ago, when my great-niece was four, she and I were playing underneath her grandmother's (my sister) dining room table. We were playing dolls or something like that. She looked at me during play and said . . . I kid you not . . . she said "I love you Aunt Mary Ellen. I love you sssooo much!". I will never forget that moment or how it felt. You see, I did get hear the words. Aunt isn't Mommy but the tone was the same. I knew how it felt to be a GREAT aunt! THEN, this child comes close to me, takes my face in her sweet little hands (at this point I am so moved I think I'm going to faint) pulls me in and says . . . "YOU have a mustache!" This part I didn't count on - but it did get me to make an appointment with my esthetician the next day!

I tell you this, in my long winded way, because I don't want to see any one stand on the rock of stubborn. I spent far too long wishing for what would never be. I let anger take over. Live your life. Accept change when it happens . . . good or bad. Change your mind . . . live your life!!

Change is inevitable. It's coming. Anticipate it. Accept it. When change happens start moving forward as quickly as you can. I know we all need to grieve in times of loss . . . I got that one down. But what's done is done . . . it will never be the same. Had I not decided to pick up my spirit that day, and see the light, I would have never experienced one the best moments of my life . . . "I love you Aunt Mary Ellen. I love you sssooo much!" As of this writing I have 13 of the most extraordinary nieces and nephews AND 13 great nieces and nephews with more to come! These children have given me the greatest joy I've ever known. AND, today, when I look into all their perfect faces . . . any of one them . . . I can see ME!