“Spring – Gods season of Miracles.”
-Kim Hyde,
mother
I’m not supposed to be here.
I shouldn’t have survived.
I was not meant to be born.
But here I am sitting at this keyboard, sharing this story. Every
time someone new hears my name, I am met with an onslaught of questions and
jokes: “Hey Spring, where’s summer?”, “Hey Spring, you know it’s Fall?”, “Were
your parents hippies or smoking something?”, “oh, you must have been born in
the Spring.”, “Like a bed spring. Haha”, and so on. Each time I just smile and
laugh and let them get their jabs in. It doesn’t bother me that they joke as I’ve
heard most of the jokes before and when it’s a new one, I applaud them and let
them know that it’s a good one. Most of the people who ask about my name aren’t
genuinely interested, just want to know if my parents were hippies (no they weren’t)
and if they were on something (again no). They have no real interest in knowing
the true story, and if they push it and I tell them, they are awkward and
regret asking and don’t know what to say.
What has brought about this topic is an incident that
happened today. While at work, I ordered Jimmy Johns because I needed something
fast and healthy (turkey unwhich for the win). The delivery guy (an older
gentleman, all white haired) was asking our receptionist what nationality I
was, trying to figure it out by my name. (Side note: this sort of lets you know
his age since mostly our grandparents’ generation and back would ask this and
held great interest in it. Not saying that our generation doesn’t, but it’s not
as prominent as it was back in the depression era). He was shocked when I came
up and I was white. We chatted a little and when I finally told him in layman’s
terms that I was named Spring because “It’s Gods season of Miracles and I was a
miracle baby” he shuffled uncomfortably and said “interesting”, took his
receipt and left.
Now, I know it’s a topic that makes many uncomfortable. They
don’t know what to say, if they should give condolences, keep quiet, etc. I just want to say that you don’t have to say
anything. I didn’t tell the story for you to feel uncomfortable and regret
asking. I’m honest about it and I will tell you if you ask me. And I guess that’s
why I felt the need to finally put this into writing. Let people know the
reason why my mom named me Spring and how it has affected me and my life. And
why I completely embrace my name, its namesake and the life I have. This may take one blog, it may take many. I
haven’t decided yet on how I will write this since I’m writing off the top of
my head and from my heart. So I guess we will just have to see where they will
take us.
My name is Spring, and I was born
in the dead of night in the middle of winter.
12:02 am on December 19th to be exact. I am an only child, but not by choice. I know
that the moment I could talk and write, I asked for a sibling. I wanted a baby
brother or sister to have adventures with, to fight with, to make memories with
and to comfort each other when my parents were fighting. I didn’t want to be
alone. I wanted someone who would see what was going on and be going through it
also. Who was submersed in it the way I was. I wanted someone to love and to be
family who was ALWAYS there, even if we weren’t talking to each other.
Every Christmas I wrote a letter to
Santa asking for a sibling. When we went for pictures and I was asked by Santa
what I wanted, I told him a baby brother or sister. For my birthday, that’s all
I would ask for. This continued until I was in about 2-4 grade when my mom
explained to me that she couldn’t have babies and she was getting her tubes
tied (endometriosis and military doctors refusing to do a hysterectomy). From
then on, I still begged Santa at Christmas for a miracle sibling.
When I was in 5th grade,
my parents sat me down and told me that Santa Claus wasn’t real. Normally, a
child would be upset. But not me. I switched tactics and started begging my
parents to adopt since they couldn’t have their own children now. No more letters to Santa, just a wishlist to
my parents for birthdays and Christmases with Sibling at the top. When my mom
finally got her hysterectomy, I knew that there was no chance of an accidental
pregnancy (id read up on getting tubes tied and had read stories of rare
pregnancies even though tubes were tied) and no chance of surrogacy or any
other way of my parents having a baby. During
these times, I was constantly being teased about my name. I started going
trying to go by Casey (nickname from my middle name) or Binker (family
nickname) because I hated being teased about my name.
I forget when exactly it was, but I
finally asked or she finally told me the reason from my name once I was in high
school. She named me Spring because “Spring is Gods season for Miracles. And
you were my miracle.” I was her miracle
baby. She had Miscarriages and false pregnancies before me (and I would find
out many after me). They wanted more kids but because of her endometriosis,
they couldn’t have anymore. And they
couldn’t afford treatments or surrogacy. She was lucky to have been able to
have me and survive the labor (she had toxemia after giving birth to me).
I finally fully embraced my name,
realizing that there was emotional meaning behind it. That people can tease me
all they want and it didn’t matter. It was a badge of honor, proof of survival.
I wish I could say that this
information helped my situation, helped me fill the void of being an only
child. Up until I graduated, I continued my requests for a sibling. Begged my
parents to adopt, that they wouldn’t have to worry about quitting jobs and
such. I was more than happy to stay home and take care of my sibling. I finally
stopped asking when I found out that there was a max age for adopters, 40 (this
was years ago, I think it’s changed since then). I was devastated that we had missed our opportunity,
that I would never have a brother or sister all my own.
And that’s when I started
developing a shopping habit. I somehow got in the mindset that I needed to buy
stuff to fill the void that was left where I wanted a sibling. The ONE thing I couldn’t
have. That I would NEVER have. It’s a terrible and longing ache that I suffer every
day of my life. I struggle to curb the spending, the eating, the sleeping
because it has gotten me into trouble. I know many people will look at this as “she’s
making excuses for her behavior”, but those people don’t realize that there are
things in our past that influences how we do things today. And this is one of
my things. I created this blog to help
me overcome my battles, to help me become a stronger person and to heal my
inner wounds.
NOTE FROM AUTHOR: There was meant to be more to this specific
blog post. More information, more details, more thought. But A) the blogger
hates editing so she usually just posts as she finishes, B) she was working as
she wrote this which is also why it ended suddenly and will be continued later,
C) she is sleepy and distracted and hopes to add to this or focus on more
information in a later blog as to why she chose the beginning paragraphs and
some insight on an empaths POV…. Thank
you for reading and hopefully will be able to update again soon…. ~SCH~
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