Pretty harsh title, no?
Yeah, that’s sort of how I feel Mother’s Day is.
As a woman who spent what seemed like a million years (but in reality was a mere 13) dreaming of nothing but being a mother and instead, had her infertility rubbed in her face year after year?
Mother’s Day could pretty much have just erased itself right off the calendar.
As a woman whose mother died far, far before her time and of horrible cancer?
Mother’s Day made fun of my motherless-ness by reminding me of all the things my mother did for me and I wished she still could.
As a woman who thought she’d FINALLY get to laugh at infertility by opening cute little cards with a little boy’s handprints, while wearing a handmade macaroni necklace from her IVF miracle–only to instead receive cards that may as well have said, “Even though he’s dead, you can still call yourself a mother”?
I pretty much wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out.
The first Mother’s Day after Matthew died stung.
And was exacerbated by the fact that I was only days away from my beta to decide whether or not I was pregnant again.
I got all of FIVE months to grieve.
FIVE whole months to ‘get it out’ of my system before I had to suck it up and ‘be happy for the baby,’ in case I was pregnant again.
(Indeed, I was. Which meant that from that second forward, every second of my life was devoted to being the best mother I could to this new child… the one I prayed would live… and that didn’t leave me a lot of room to deal with the grief work that validly came from losing his older brother.)
Mother’s Day hurts me. I don’t like it.
It reminds me of what I’ve lost and will never have back.
It reminds me that I have no one to tell my little boy stories about when she was pregnant with me, and that as grateful as I am for my son’s sweet three-year-old kisses, I should be smothered with more by two more little boys.
It’s hard if you are infertile and have a hard time hearing about all the motherhood you don’t get to have.
It’s hard if you have had losses and have had to give your motherhood to urns or graves.
It’s hard if your mother is not with you.
Whether it is because she is dead or unavailable or just not a healthy person in your life–you are motherless.
It’s not all breakfast in bed and handmade cards and flowery corsages as you walk into church.
And while I am grateful that I am blessed enough to be the recipient of all of those things…
What it’s not and hasn’t been and never will be doesn’t ever leave my bones.
Thinking of all those for whom Mother’s day isn’t exactly the holiday everyone else seems to think it is.