Mother’s Day is around the corner again.
For the third time since my son was born sleeping, I will revisit the same emotional hurdles that this day brings. This year is different, though; quarantine is alive and well due to coronavirus.
I am well aware of the seriousness of the pandemic that is currently at our doorstep. With the arrival of the virus came certain limitations in our lives, i.e., social distancing.
Social distancing can be rough at times, and it can make you stir crazy and lonely. It has one upside, though, as we approach mother’s day, a way out of uncomfortable social expectations.
This means all the pretense; the moments I leave filled with silence as the other members of my party are happily brunching; the moments I clenched my teeth when hearing people count off the number of grandkids/kids sat around the table – will be blissfully avoided.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the love and support family gives me. I appreciate being included in festivities.
The thing I can never get over is celebrating Mother’s Day while one of the little humans I am mother to is completely ignored.
His life, to them, like a nuisance to be carefully maneuvered around.
Every other Mother’s Day I found myself uncomfortably sitting around a table of happy people, holding back the feelings that threatened to spill out at a moment’s notice.
Waiting for someone to gush about how my brood has grown, how much my THREE boys must mean to me.
Only to cry all the way home. Knowing that I was happy but that the sorrow of grief brings turbulence to this day.
Frustrated by those that surround me, wishing for them to understand what it means to openly fail to acknowledge the hole in my heart.
Celebrations of being a mom in public have felt so hollow since my Lennon left me.
This year, though, I will be doing what my state requires of me. I will stay at home. I will not wear pants (okay, this is not a requirement just a general rule of thumb), I will cuddle with all of my boys, and I will talk of their brother who should be here but is being thought of and remembered instead.
I will not pretend this year.
Perhaps that’s the greatest kindness to give to a loss mom. Allowing them the space to be honest.
Remember that to them, the very definition of the day’s festivities only exists to highlight the fact that not all of their sweet little ones are there to hold.
Expecting polite banter with them over a cowboy-themed brunch may just be too much for them to endure.
So, if you are a momma living without your child this Mother’s Day, I invite you to lean into this quarantine.
Join me in not joining in.
Avoid strategically trying not to make others uncomfortable by speaking about the very thing that made you a mother.
Do you. Live through whatever emotion the day may bring.
Allow yourself the grace of being a little sad that one (or all) of your little ones are not present physically to celebrate you on this Mother’s Day.
If you know and love someone who is a loss mom, I would like to gently remind you that simply saying someone’s child’s name can make all the difference.
Forget, for a few moments, how today should be for celebrating and know that for some women, this day is a mixed bag at best.
Mother’s Day from quarantine this year will be different.
Different can be beautiful.
Morgan McLaverty, a world traveler that has taken roots in southern New Jersey where her husband Sean was born and raised. Now, a stay at home mother, she cares for her three living boys; Gavin Cole(5), Rowan Grey(3) and Holden Nash (1). She also is a mother to Lennon Rhys. Lennon was born still at thirty one weeks and five days. His loss spurred on a need in Morgan to write her feelings, share her grief and help others in the process. She hopes her words will help shed the silence and taboo nature of discussing pregnancy and child loss.