This is my third Mothers' Day celebrating as a mother. Well, technically my fourth, as E was born a month after MD three years ago. And looking back on last year's, erm, celebration, this year is far different. Last year on this day, we had snow, and wind, and I ran a 4 mile race that sucked, except running with my best friend and her kiddos in the stroller made it a bit fun. But overall, I freaking hated that day.
Last year on Mothers' Day I wanted to spend the day in bed. I didn't want to go anywhere near it. I felt other, different, alien in a world of happiness when I was so very, deeply sad. It felt like no one could possibly understand why the day might be hard for me. My baby had died but 4 months earlier, to the day, and yet it seemed I was supposed to have gotten over it.
This year, I have a six-month-old-tomorrow little dude celebrating with the almost-three-year-old and me, and C. And I am so very much in love. It is sunny and warm, and maybe, just maybe, we can start to believe spring is on its way to our corner of the Earth at last. I have laughed today at the absurdities of life. I have kissed and hugged my two boys all day. I went on a nice date with C last night and am still feeling warm and fuzzy and loved. Somehow, just 365 days later, I look and can act (mostly) like a normal person.
And yet. This day will always be a reminder (as though I would ever forget) of just how much we have lost, despite our rich life. Part of me will resent this holiday forever, the contrived feeling, the sometimes forcing of smiles and niceness, when all I want to do is cry. How dare I want to scream and wail when I have such wonderful children alive in my arms?
Who knew you could still have mom guilt for a baby you never even got the chance to parent? It occurred to me that I've done so physically little to honor Calla's memory. No fundraising foundation. No letter-writing campaign. No 5k memorial run. All I have is a hole in my heart, some pictures and a beautiful box, an urn of ashes I can't bring myself to scatter. Last year it was all I could do to merely survive, preserve my sanity through my pregnancy with O; anything more seemed impossible.
This is my year. The year for tending her stone in the cemetery, for telling her story to the boys, for living without her while still living.
Mothers' Day, happy or not, easier or anxiety filled--my love to you all, wherever you may be on this path.