14: The Fertility Specialist

14: The Fertility Specialist

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: For Mom, with Love

The Fertility Specialist

Mother love is the fuel that enables a normal human being to do the impossible.

~Marion C. Garretty

My mother was a special woman. It’s hard to put into words, but somehow we all believed she possessed a rare gift, like she always knew a bit more than she let on. Her premonitions were always spot-on. Deep down I knew I had inherited this ability, but I spoke of it infrequently or only when one of my predictions was proved accurate.

I was living in California in the 1990’s, married with a five-year-old daughter. We had tried unsuccessfully for the past four years to have another child. I called my mom and she asked the usual question: “So, when are you having another child?”

I was one of nine, so having an only child was inconceivable to her. I explained that I had made an appointment with a fertility specialist. She responded as expected: “You don’t need a fertility specialist. You just don’t pray enough.” I assured her that I prayed, but unfortunately I needed more than prayers at this point. My thirty-second birthday was around the corner and I really wanted answers.

A few days later, my beloved mom, who was barely seventy and in good health, unexpectedly died in her sleep. I went back to New Jersey for the funeral. It was surreal walking through the door and seeing her petite body in a casket; and then something even more surreal happened. I was halfway to her when I felt a force hitting me in the gut. It was like an air gun had hit me. I felt my body pushed back. I continued to make my way to her, but now with a smile. I knelt before her and shook my head. “I know what you just did. I know what just happened there. You never cease to amaze me, Helen.”

The following day, which was my thirty-third birthday, my mom was laid to rest. I returned home to California exhausted and drained. I missed my little Lauren and needed to be home. I lugged my suitcase out of the car and began walking up the path to the front steps. The first thing I noticed was a box on my front porch. I put down my suitcase and with trembling hands I opened it. The first thing I saw was her handwriting on the outside of the birthday card. Inside the box was a beautiful white statue of a mom holding a baby boy. Today it remains in a hutch in my living room.

Logan was born on August 13, 1996, exactly nine months to the day after my mother was laid to rest.

~Mary Ellen Flaherty Langbein

You are currently enjoying a preview of this book.

Sign up here to get a Chicken Soup for the Soul story emailed to you every day for free!

Please note: Our premium story access has been discontinued (see more info).

view counter

More stories from our partners