Mother’s Day…a time of abounding joy, a celebration of one of the most precious gifts in life – a relationship between a mother and her children. Today is the day when congratulations, and well-wishes, and pictures of loving families and beautiful gifts are posted everywhere to spread the cheer and honor motherhood. But, amidst the excitement and cards and ads and wonder, it is easy to forget that this is a holiday that is tinged with sadness and loss for many…and I think it is time to acknowledge that grief. It isn’t the popular thing to discuss on Mother’s Day, but here goes.
It is time to honor those of us struggling with infertility and longing to be moms, who are reminded today of the emptiness that we feel as we wonder if our time will ever come. It is time to give a nod to those of us who have lost moms or those like moms to us, who are reminded of that profound loss as we rejoice in our happy memories we wish we could continue to build. It is time to observe a moment of silence for those of us who have lost their children, who find themselves longing to celebrate that special bond, but unsure how to do that with empty arms. It is time to grant some solace to those of us who have difficult and complicated relationships with our mothers, who try to honor their mothers without discounting feelings of anger, frustration or disappointment.
To be honest, I lived for many years in sheltered oblivion, seeing the wonder of Mother’s Day through my rose-colored glasses. Why not? I never had any reason to think of sadness until I was struggling with infertility. I remember the pain of my first Mother’s Day as I longed to be a mother, wondering if and how it would ever happen for us. I spent the day looking around at all the happy families, each smile a beautiful but stabbing reminder of what I feared I might never have. I tried to focus on celebrating my mother, but I was pained as I wondered if I would ever be so lucky as to have a relationship of my own to honor one day.
It was Mother’s Day 2008 when I first got a taste of the privilege of celebrating Mother’s Day as a mother…I was almost 7 weeks pregnant with my first child, Micah. I remember the joy, and excitement that rushed over me each and every time I whispered “I’m going to be a mommy!” I could barely contain my excitement as I shared the news of our pregnancy with my family, and I was excited to think that I, too, could partake in the holiday as a “mommy-to-be.” Over and over, the phrase “NEXT YEAR I’ll finally be a MOM” resounded its chorus in my head…but I never forgot that I was part of a community of women who were not yet lucky enough to be shouting that refrain with me.
I celebrated my very first Mother’s Day as a mom in 2009. I was brimming with love and excitement that day, to finally celebrate being a mom, a title I fought so hard to claim. I remember thinking that one day soon, I would hear my son call me “Mama” for the first time, and I thought of all the wonderful years we had ahead together. I remember sitting around my parents’ house and basking in the knowledge that I finally had that relationship I so desperately craved…I was somebody’s MOM. I was still actively involved in the infertility community, and when I saw posts of sadness from those mommies-in-waiting, I could again see some tarnish around the edges of Mother’s Day. My joy was not enough to eclipse the sadness I felt for those who were still waiting to cross that bridge into motherhood, wondering when and how it would happen. That weekend, I also had a friend give birth for the first time…only to lose her daughter a few short days later. A glaring reminder again about the sadness that can mark such a beautiful celebration.
Mother’s Day 2010 was perhaps the best Mother’s Day I’ve ever experienced…my whole family gathered at my parents’ house to make brunch and celebrate together. I was expecting my second child, the food was delicious, and we all simply enjoyed being together. How could the day be any more perfect? We had lost my grandmother a few months before at the ripe old age of 97, so it was the first time my mother was celebrating Mother’s Day without HER mother…ironic that I did not truly appreciate the significance of her loss that day. We took a family photo to commemorate the perfect day, and we sat around planning trips for the summer. Our gift to my mom that year was a certificate for a set of professional family photos to be taken after my daughter, Maya was born. Little did I know, that day was our last perfect day together. Two short weeks later, my mother got sick. She was eventually diagnosed with brain cancer, a glioblastoma multiforme (GBM), and she died 6 months later, almost to the day. We never did get to take those family photos we promised her.
After I lost my mother, someone recommended I read a book called Motherless Daughters. I’m certain the book is a wonderful resource…but I never could move beyond the title. Motherless Daughters. I think I object to the term on principle. I’m not a motherless daughter…I have a mother. Although I cannot see her or touch her, she is here with me, every minute of every single day. I carry her with me, I hear her voice in my head, and I share her wisdom and life lessons with my children. Maybe that is another lesson in Mother’s Day – it is a time to honor those we carry with us, and embrace their influence on our lives. Before she died, my mother was listening to an audiobook of Mitch Albom’s Tuesdays with Morrie. It made her re-think death and dying, and my mother said to me that after she died, she hoped that Morrie was right, and that she was somewhere out there, floating in the ether, surrounding us, watching us, loving us, and sharing our joy. I hope so, too.
Last year was my first mother’s day without my mom, but this year was the first in many, many years that we did not celebrate the holiday as an extended family. Nevertheless, I’ve had a good Mother’s Day. On Friday, Micah came running home from school, bursting with excitement to give me the gift he made for me – a picture frame from a CD jewel case, propped up with a popsicle stick, decorated with foam sticker shapes, and a gorgeous photo of him in the center. What could be better? Elliot bought me a pair of earrings “from the kids” – a pair of trees, a symbol of life and family. We ate breakfast together, this morning, we went shopping at Costco, and we stopped at the cemetery to visit my mother.
Her headstone is finally in place…we are not officially having the unveiling for another few weeks, but it was the first time I was over her marked grave. We brought a few kibbles of dog food for Nugget (my dog whose ashes are buried with my mother), and we cut fresh flowers to place in a vase for my mother. I needed to be close to her…but hated that I could not touch or see her.
Once again, it was a sunny day, and I was struck by the beauty of our surroundings juxtaposed against the sobriety of the location. The children were too young to understand the full weight of where we were…so they smiled and laughed and played. My mother would have loved that!
Tonight, we enjoyed a quiet dinner at home. We had planned a dinner out, but we ran late all day, and opted to simplify. Today I am remembering my mother, and trying to honor her life and our relationship by enjoying my children, and trusting that she is out there in the ether, celebrating, too.
So, today I wish everyone a joyous and happy Mother’s Day. But I ask that we not forget that even this precious holiday is tempered by sadness, and I hope that we all take a moment to respect the range of mother relationships that we should honor today: mothers-in-waiting, mothers-to-be, mothers-of-loss, children-of-loss, mothers, grandmothers, and mother figures. Mother’s Day IS for all of us.
Jess, my heart breaks for you…just know your mom is always with you and she is so proud of all you’ve accomplished!