Mothers' Day. Need I say more?
I guess the old me would look to this day with benign ambivalence--I love my mother, my mother-in-law, the grandmas, the godmothers, the aunts, the soon-to-be moms in our lives. But traveling hither and yon to celebrate one and all gets wearisome. It felt a little false, as though I needed to cram a year's worth of love and gratitude into one day. I try to show the women who raised, love and continue to support me how much I care all year, but on Mothers' Day, nothing feels like enough. Maybe I need to turn off the TV . . .
Last year, on my first MD as a mother (well, an outside mother), I had a lovely day settling in to our new house, hosting everyone for dinner, and simply enjoying being with my family--most especially my almost-one-year-old son. He has been, and continues to be, one of the brightest lights in my whole life. I am eternally grateful for his little self. Being his mother is, well, I don't quite have the words.
This year, well, all I can say is UGH. It's not going to be relaxing, it's not going to be all sunshine and roses and la-ti-dah. In this order, I'm: running a race, going to brunch, going to C's family for dinner. In between all those events, I'll be under my pillow. Well, not really, but metaphorically, I will be. I can't help but be reminded of what was supposed to be this year, who was supposed to be here, who is not and never will be in my arms.
In this new reality, I can't help but look at Mothers' Day as a day of grieving. What of the babyloss mothers? What of the sons and daughters whose mothers are no longer alive, or are estranged, or are horrible? What of the countless women who would DIE for a family, but are not afforded that luxury? What of the families waiting, and waiting, and waiting for an adoption to come through, for their families to be complete? Mothers' Day, now, is just another brutal reminder of the blows we fell each day, we the loss community as one.
Maybe I can feel this way about one square on the May calendar because each day with my son and husband remind me of the wonders in life. I don't *need* a day for feeling appreciated. And in that sense, I am truly lucky, grateful, (dare I say?) blessed. And so many of my friends around me have wonderful children, mothers--be they biological, adopted, step, or in-law. Some are lucky enough to have "children" or "mothers" who are of no blood or legal relation, but fill the slot with absolute precision. These are things worth celebrating, tomorrow and every damn day of our lives.
Don't pity me. Don't look at my grieving as an affront to your happiness. I own that I'm going to be a bit of a downer tomorrow. All the lollipops and rainbows shoved in my face won't make my loss any smaller, any softer--in fact, they'll make it far more bitter and abrasive. All I'm asking for is compassion for the mothers, the sons and daughters who will be under their pillows. If you are not one of *us*, know that I envy you.
Gord, give me strength.