Today’s that day. Another one of those days, I should say. There’s many. And like the others, I wasn’t sure how I would feel.
For some reason, the anticipation of this day was worse then it actually has been today, so far. I’ve learned that sometimes that will happen. And sometimes it’ll be worse after the fact, whatever “the fact” might be. So, like everything else, I just go with it.
A year ago this weekend we were celebrating the life of my grandfather who had passed away a month before. His memorial service was on Mother’s Day, and it being the first without Quinlan, I welcomed the distraction. This year I’m no longer in the shock period that I was deeply in last year at this time. I had such anxiety combined with PTSD of what had happened. In fact, the day after Mother’s Day last year was the first time I took an anti-anxiety med. Hence the “worse after the fact”.
So, this year I was just going with it. I told my husband that I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do today, something he’s used to hearing me say. In turn, we planned nothing and wanted to treat it like every other Sunday. Then on Friday night, I had one of my “moments” (what Bear and I call it when we break down, feel the feels, and allow ourselves to just be). I had ALL the feels. Sad, angry, f-this and f-that were flying around in my head. I was pissed and I was feeling sorry for myself. I started planning an “anti-mother’s day” for myself and anyone else who wanted to join. The tears were flowing and it felt good to let all out. I’ve met some moms who have lost their children and they said they cry every day. That’s never been me. I used to feel guilty if I didn’t cry every day at the begining. I’ve come to realize that crying isn’t the only way to grieve and it’s ok if I have a day when crying isn’t involved. But nights like Friday night do happen and it is a release and it’s necessary every once in a while. So, I go with it.
In the middle of my “moment” a friend, ironically, a nurse turned friend that we met through Quinlan, texted me to ask if I received anything in the mail. The one day I hadn’t checked the mail. So, of course I go to the front door and received a package from her. A package that made me stop for a minute and have happy tears because yes, I am a mom, and yes, I should be celebrated, damn it. I told her she caught me in the middle of a “feeling bad for myself” cry and because, not only are nurse’s ones who take care of your sick children, they are also social workers/therapists/friends, they know what to say. She reminded me that I am entitled to feel any way I want to feel this weekend. I miss Quinlan, the one who allows me to be able to celebrate Mother’s Day every year and it’s ok if I want to say f-this day.
So, that’s kinda where I am now. I’ve spent my Sunday like any other Sunday. I’m not necessarily “anti-mother’s day”, but I’m also not embracing it as much as I would be doing if the situation were different. Whether you’re a mom who’s lucky enough to have your children with you today to squeeze, you’re a mom who’s still working on bringing your babies into the world, a mom who’s memories and pictures are all you have left of your babies, a mom who’s currently growing a little one or a mom who’s mom isn’t here to wish you a happy Mother’s Day, we all deserve to be acknowledged. Even if just for a small moment of the day (and even if after the acknowledgement you throw out a “f-that” under your breath, that’s ok, too).
So for now, I am going to feel the feels, take in the moments, and try to remember whatever this journey is that I’m on, there is always a little something good that could come from a day like today. Even if it’s a good cry and a couple f-bombs.