Celebration Anticipation

I’m not sure that I have too much to say this week.  It’s been a rough seven days.  The worst part about it is that I am not even entirely sure why I have been moping about.  I’m not exactly sure what it is that is bringing me so far down.  Except for the obvious of course and maybe that’s all that it is.  Maybe it’s that I spend so much of my energy going about my daily life pretending that everything is okay, pretending that I haven’t been broken, pretending that I was never pregnant just a short time ago.  Pretending that I haven’t been robbed of planning for the birth of a baby in just 3 short months.  Ugh.  So, maybe that’s it.  Maybe my mind and my body are so exhausted from all these charades that they just can’t keep up with the game anymore.  Maybe my core and my shell altogether have conspired to just shut down entirely.  Maybe I need to stop and just let these tears that I have been fighting all week just flow out of me.  Maybe I should let myself be a puddle on your floor, let myself be vulnerable, allow myself my grief.  Maybe I shouldn’t hide, only letting my true self surface once a week, here in this safe space.  Maybe I should scream and yell and swear no matter where I am.  But don’t worry, I won’t.  For some reason, I need you to think I’m okay (but I’m not).  I don’t want you to worry about me (but I do).  The reality is, I truly want to be normal (but I can’t).  And this really sucks.  I want to be able to go about my day without this dark cloud looming overhead.  I want to be able to participate in the day-to-day happenings in life with joy and exuberance, I want to have uncontained excitement, I want to enjoy the fullest experiences I can.  And I try.  I do these things, I partake, I participate, I attempt, I attend, but I’m finding that my heart is only half-engaged in most of my endeavors and my mask is in full force when I appear to be fully present.   And if you think the day-to-day is hard, wait until you get to the holidays and celebrations.  Just you wait.

And so it will go this Mother’s Day.  There will be celebrations to participate in, honorings to engage in, people to dote on.  I will make my appearances, I will do my duties, and I will disguise my pain as I have done in years past so I am not the one responsible for ruining someone else’s celebration.   If you aren’t aware, holidays and celebrations are by far the worst days for those who have loved and lost.  Well, at least that’s been my experience anyway.  But there are certain holidays that turn the knife in your gut a little more than others.  Mother’s Day is one of those for me.  And I know I have a lot to be grateful for on this Mother’s Day.  I have a kind, caring, giving mother to celebrate who is thankfully still an amazing part of my life.  I have the best daughter a mom could ask for, who is compassionate, loving, and wise beyond her years, who will celebrate my mommy-ness with me.  But I am also presented with the complexity of playing a dual role on this day.  Mommy of the living and mommy of the dead.  Brutally honest, I know, but just a reminder, this is my reality.  Hopefully you only have to read about it.  I know I have so much joy to celebrate, but a certain darkness haunts me from one holiday to the next and this one is no exception.  I have a son who should have been present for the past five Mother’s Days, but instead I have spent them grieving his loss.  I carry him with me in my heart every day, but there are certain times when the reminders of his absence in my life are way too present.  He should be here celebrating with us, drawing me a picture, making me a card, planting me a flower, whatever it is that five year olds do to celebrate their mommies on this day.  And now I carry a new burden with me this Mother’s Day.  My heart also knows that I would have or should have been anticipating and celebrating a new chapter of mommyhood.  This Mother’s Day, I would have been 6 months pregnant.  I would have had a full-on baby bulge.  This baby would be kicking and moving about and I would be fully aware and basking in the thought that I would be a mommy once again very soon.  The gifts I received would have been from Abigail and Baby.  We would already know the gender of this bundle of joy.  We probably would already have a name picked out.  There are so many would haves and should haves that make my heart ache.  And I realize that I am spending a lot of time dwelling on the would haves and should haves instead of the indeed do haves, but damn it, I’ve been here before.  I’ve paid these dues already.  I’ve mailed in the check.  Can the collectors please stop harassing me?  I demand to have more to celebrate than I have to grieve, more alive babies than dead.  Hell, at this point, I’d be happy to break even.  And I know it’s all about perspective sometimes, but right now, I obviously have only one.  And here I sit with it, as it spews its ugliness into my soul. 

Most of my blog posts recently seem to end with some sort of hope or inspirational message.  I’m not sure I can do that for you today.  My heart’s just not in it and I’ve promised myself that in this space I will be true to who I am and how I am in the moment.  So I’m not feeling it today.  I’m not feeling my fight or my hope or my spirit.   Instead I feel pain, I feel heartache, I feel the grief of it all.  I’m feeling a huge amount of anxious anticipation for the celebrations that are quickly appearing on the horizon.  I’m anticipating the loneliness I will feel in my urges to engage in an anti-celebration of sorts.  So maybe my message for you today is simply to be aware that celebrations are difficult for some of us whose dreams have been broken, dreams that we may have had for a lifetime, that have been ripped away from us in an instant.  Be aware that although I may be smiling on the outside during this day of honoring, my heart may be breaking on the inside.  Part of this brokenness may be because I know what I have lost and know that I can never have it back.  Part of this brokenness is feeling incomplete, a part of me is gone forever.   But part of this brokenness is because I feel I have failed as a mother and wasn’t able to provide the care for my babies that they needed.  I wasn’t able to protect them and keep them safe.  And this is Mother’s day and maybe I don’t feel like I have always been able to adequately fulfill all my motherly duties and maybe this is why this day hurts most of all.  Just maybe.  And I know these are not fully rational thoughts, but there are days when the darkness plays gatekeeper and fends off all of the rationale from entering my heart in any way, shape or form.  I’m having one of those days.  So if you know someone who has been down a similar path, someone who has traveled a journey similar to mine, please be sure they do not feel alone this Mother’s day.  They may be having one of those days too.  Do something special for them so that they know they are valued and thought of during this day of honoring and recognition.  Make sure they know that tangibility is not a defining factor in being a mom.  Make sure they know that a mom is defined by the experience of love:  by knowing love in its truest form, by loving that baby, that child, that gift, even if that little one’s only living space is now in her heart.  Be sure you remember these moms who have loved and have lost, whether it has been through miscarriage, pregnancy loss, neonatal loss or a child loss of any kind.  Be sure you extend them a kind gesture of some sort, a phone call, an email, just an “I’m thinking about you” on this day that might be hard to celebrate, a day that may be very hard to swallow.  There’s a very good possibility that uncovering their holiday charade may be very well appreciated, and although it most definitely will not fix everything, it may be enough to at least mend a small piece of the brokenness, at least in the moment of this celebration.  It may be enough to elicit a fleeting smile that isn’t forced after all.