Mother's day has always been an awkward, bittersweet day in my family.
My grandmother died (way too young) a month and a half before I turned 6. Not a day goes by that I don't think about her and miss her terribly. My entire family was robbed of SO much time with her. Every year when Mother's Day would come around, my mom would get really sad and not want to acknowledge the day. She didn't want any cards or gifts. She didn't want to go out for dinner, or to do anything really other than sit at home in peace. If my dad tried to plan something she would get so mad at him. She would try to fight through her hurt for us so that we wouldn't notice something was wrong, but I always knew. I always felt her hurt when she was hurt. I felt her hurt and saw it in her eyes, but as a child I couldn't yet really understand why. When I got older, I got it. I wouldn't say Happy Mother's day, I would just give her a big hug, tell her I love her, say "happy day" and we would go on with our normal day. If I bought her a gift it would be something fun and different and I would give it to her a week before, nonchalantly and unwrapped.
While being understanding to why she felt the way she did about the day, my dad would always try to get her to see that we wanted to celebrate her. I guess she felt if she couldn't celebrate her own mom, she didn't want to be celebrated either. Even if I didn't agree with her I grew to respect her wish, and celebrated her in other ways, on different days.
Eventually and unfortunately, the day came, where I got it.
My loss may be on the opposite end of hers, but I understand now fully how she felt all those years. She lost her mother, and I lost my motherhood.
One day in the middle of my third pregnancy, I started experiencing odd symptoms. I called my OB and she told me unless there was bleeding, I had nothing to worry about and that was normal. Late at night on May 7th of 2016, at 4 and a half months pregnant, I started bleeding. Vinny drove me to the emergency room, where I was until morning. They sent me home. At 4 and a half months pregnant, I heard the words that there was nothing they could do and they sent me home. What the hell was I supposed to do at home? That far along, my baby is a baby. I knew my baby had an actual formed body.. arms, legs, fingers, toes. I had felt this baby moving around. I saw this baby moving around on earlier ultrasounds, just swimming away happy as can be. I have video of this baby playing in my womb. What am I supposed to do with a baby at 4 and a half months at home?
The next morning a maternal fetal specialist had reviewed my ER visit and scans, and felt that there was something that could be done to save my pregnancy. He personally called me, asking me to come back to the hospital so he could do his own exam. Why wasn't a specialist called when I was in the ER? Now, hours have passed, and I find out something COULD HAVE BEEN DONE!? The specialist thought there was hope, and transferred me over to one if the best hospitals in Boston, where is own team works. I had to wait a few more hours inbetween seeing him, and for the doctors he reached out to to get to me and assess my condition. So much time had passed since I was initially examined, that by then, it really was too late. Now, there really was nothing they could do.
My baby had a strong heart beat. He was healthy. He was perfectly fine, until I delivered. He was too small to survive outside of my body. Early in the morning, on May 9th of 2016, which happened to be Mother's Day, I delivered a healthy but silent baby boy. Our world was shattered.
Mother's Day. How am I supposed to acknowledge the day that being a mother was literally torn away from me, or rather ripped out of me? A day when the very first thing I am supposed to do as a mother, bring my healthy baby into this world alive, I failed. The very day that I failed my son, and I failed my husband. A day that I spent holding my breathless son's tiny hand, staring at his 10 perfect little toes, his lips that were so plump like his dad's, his tiny nose, and his beautiful eyes. They may have been closed, but I know he had my eyes. Knowing that I was going to have to leave there without him, was the worst pain I have ever felt in my life. Far worse than any of the physical pain I just went through. Far worse than just almost dying like I did. Flash forward to every Mother's day after. How am I supposed to celebrate this day? Every 5 years or so, our son's "birthday" is going to fall on Mother's Day. Talk about a double whammy.
Now I get it. Now I get 100% why my mom never wanted to celebrate Mother's Day, because I don't either.
For the few years after this happened, I felt like I did not deserve all of the Mother's Day thoughts, prayers, wishes, flowers, etc that the few closest to us would send to me out of an abundance of love and support. They knew what the day was to me, how difficult it would be. Still, no matter how much I tried to fight it, tried to hide until the day had passed, they always acknowledged me. 5 years later and they still do.
Sometimes I still don't feel like I deserve it. I have internal struggles all the time. I'm not a mom, I don't care for children everyday like they do, so I shouldn't be acknowledged on Mother's day. Wrong! Not being able to care for my children every day was not a choice I made. And it is simply not true. I care for my angel babies every day. Every day I pray for them, I hope for them, I think about who they are with up in heaven and what they are doing. Are they ok? Are they happy? Are they together? Is my 5 year old little boy running around causing ruckas, learning about sports, eating cake on his birthday like we do? Is he waiting for the day I get to hold him again like I am waiting? Or is he sad and upset with me that I failed him? All of these things make me a mother. I am a mother. I am a mother of angel babies. I am a mother with a strong heart and a lot of love stuck inside me that is just aching to be let out.
I am a mother, I am a survivor, and I am a warrior.
Tomorrow is May 9th, 2021. Tomorrow is Mother's Day. Tomorrow is our son's 5th "birthday". While he may not be able to celebrate with us here in the physical world, I will hope and pray like I do everyday, that he comes to visit me in my dreams like he sometimes does. Tomorrow, we will eat cake.
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