Mother's Day
Tomorrow is Mother's Day. Mother's Day has been a hard one for me for the last 8 years anyway. For anyone who doesn't know, I experienced the loss of three pregnancies and I already have mixed emotions about the day. But I push through them when this day rolls around every year. I now have three stepdaughters so I push through harder, because none of my grief or anger is their fault. And honestly, unless you've experienced such loss, you'll never truly understand the loss of what could have been.
This year is different though. Because just a few days ago I lost my mom suddenly. So this year I'm grieving and I'm grieving hard. One of our family friends equated the loss of a strong and loving mom to the loss of your North Star. I could never have put it so eloquently myself, but it was the most accurate description I've heard. I am the luckiest woman in the world to have been able to call her mom. And I was the last person to speak with her before she called 911. I was the able to tell her I loved her. And her death was sudden and without the suffering so many experience. But I'm grieving her loss in my life. The loss of the daily phone calls, the texts, the ridiculous questions, the silly jokes, her advice and her hugs. My mom was a flawed human, as we all are, but she was a constant that was ripped from me. And it fucking hurts. Hours after she was laid to rest we had to call 911 and have my dad transported to the hospital where he is now in the ICU. He will be there for weeks. He contracted an infection after previous surgeries and he can't speak. I'm his next of kin. I'll shoulder that responsibility, with the full weight and full support of my siblings, because that's how I was raised. You don't shirk responsibility. You bear it.
But there are moments where I want to run screaming. Where I want to tell everyone to QUIT ASKING HOW I AM DOING. How would you be doing? How would you be feeling? I am as ok as I can possibly be because I have to be ok. Because I was taught to have coping mechanisms. Because I was raised to deal with tragedy and loss and to deal with what you have to. Because I was raised by my parents. So I will get through this just as I have survived every other thing. I will do it all anyway. I will cry through it. I will laugh through it. I will smile through it. But I will also hurt through it. I will be angry through it. I will not sleep and will not eat as much or as regularly as I should. And please stop telling me what to do. I know that people care. I do too. Telling me to take care of myself just makes me want to punch you. Asking me if I'm ok makes me want to shoot you. I'm not fucking ok. My mom is gone and my dad is on a ventilator with a feeding tube. Would you be ok? You would not. I'm ok enough to take the next step. I'm ok enough to get through today. That is all you can ask of me. That is all I'm asking of myself.
I'm eternally grateful for all of the loving words. For all of the stories about my mom. For all of the hugs, the tears, the memories, the favors, all of it. Keep her memory alive. She was so much to so many people. She touched so many lives. She was extraordinary, although she never ever seemed to really realize it. But she raised me. She taught me to be better. She always told me to be true to myself. That it was ok to hurt, it was ok to cry, it was ok to make mistakes and it was ok to put boundaries in place. She gave me wings and let me fly away to embrace some of my gypsy spirit. She was a great mom. So tomorrow is going to be extra painful. Because she's not here. I can't give her the gifts she asked for, that we had been planning the night she passed. Right now my heart is broken; shattered. But if you keep asking, I'll keep lying and saying I"m ok, I'm fine. Because each day I'm a little more ok. I have to be ok. Because that's what you do. You get through the next step. You deal with the next thing. You cry at the song on the radio, then you smile at a memory. Then you deal with the next hard thing until the cycle starts over. Because that's how you heal. Tomorrow is going to be awful. But I'll lie and say I'm ok and you'll take that answer and I'll get through that too.
For all of you celebrating tomorrow, hug your mom extra hard. And those of you grieving tomorrow, I hope no one asks how you are doing.
This year is different though. Because just a few days ago I lost my mom suddenly. So this year I'm grieving and I'm grieving hard. One of our family friends equated the loss of a strong and loving mom to the loss of your North Star. I could never have put it so eloquently myself, but it was the most accurate description I've heard. I am the luckiest woman in the world to have been able to call her mom. And I was the last person to speak with her before she called 911. I was the able to tell her I loved her. And her death was sudden and without the suffering so many experience. But I'm grieving her loss in my life. The loss of the daily phone calls, the texts, the ridiculous questions, the silly jokes, her advice and her hugs. My mom was a flawed human, as we all are, but she was a constant that was ripped from me. And it fucking hurts. Hours after she was laid to rest we had to call 911 and have my dad transported to the hospital where he is now in the ICU. He will be there for weeks. He contracted an infection after previous surgeries and he can't speak. I'm his next of kin. I'll shoulder that responsibility, with the full weight and full support of my siblings, because that's how I was raised. You don't shirk responsibility. You bear it.
But there are moments where I want to run screaming. Where I want to tell everyone to QUIT ASKING HOW I AM DOING. How would you be doing? How would you be feeling? I am as ok as I can possibly be because I have to be ok. Because I was taught to have coping mechanisms. Because I was raised to deal with tragedy and loss and to deal with what you have to. Because I was raised by my parents. So I will get through this just as I have survived every other thing. I will do it all anyway. I will cry through it. I will laugh through it. I will smile through it. But I will also hurt through it. I will be angry through it. I will not sleep and will not eat as much or as regularly as I should. And please stop telling me what to do. I know that people care. I do too. Telling me to take care of myself just makes me want to punch you. Asking me if I'm ok makes me want to shoot you. I'm not fucking ok. My mom is gone and my dad is on a ventilator with a feeding tube. Would you be ok? You would not. I'm ok enough to take the next step. I'm ok enough to get through today. That is all you can ask of me. That is all I'm asking of myself.
I'm eternally grateful for all of the loving words. For all of the stories about my mom. For all of the hugs, the tears, the memories, the favors, all of it. Keep her memory alive. She was so much to so many people. She touched so many lives. She was extraordinary, although she never ever seemed to really realize it. But she raised me. She taught me to be better. She always told me to be true to myself. That it was ok to hurt, it was ok to cry, it was ok to make mistakes and it was ok to put boundaries in place. She gave me wings and let me fly away to embrace some of my gypsy spirit. She was a great mom. So tomorrow is going to be extra painful. Because she's not here. I can't give her the gifts she asked for, that we had been planning the night she passed. Right now my heart is broken; shattered. But if you keep asking, I'll keep lying and saying I"m ok, I'm fine. Because each day I'm a little more ok. I have to be ok. Because that's what you do. You get through the next step. You deal with the next thing. You cry at the song on the radio, then you smile at a memory. Then you deal with the next hard thing until the cycle starts over. Because that's how you heal. Tomorrow is going to be awful. But I'll lie and say I'm ok and you'll take that answer and I'll get through that too.
For all of you celebrating tomorrow, hug your mom extra hard. And those of you grieving tomorrow, I hope no one asks how you are doing.
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