Mother's Day with no mom

Well, my last post was all about my amazing revelations on my birthday. There was a big part of me that was hoping Mother's Day wouldn't be as bad as I was anticipating. Unfortunately, it started out worse than I expected.

I woke up sad and with a headache. As I got ready for the day, the emotions built up even though I tried to keep them down. I checked my facebook page and saw all the Happy Mother's Day messages and started to cry. It just all felt so empty to me and it made me sad. I know I'm a mom and this day was not just about MY mom but also about me...but to me...not having my mom here made the whole day seem hollow.

Then Olly's brother called and wanted to talk to me to wish me a Happy Mother's Day and I completely fell apart. I couldn't talk to him. I didn't want people to wish me a Happy Mother's Day because it simply wasn't a happy day for me. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried until I was nearly hyperventilating. I swear I could "feel" my mom telling me that all of this wasn't necessary, but I hurt...I just hurt so deeply. I hadn't felt that way since shortly after she had died. I felt empty and sad and angry and I just wanted to run. I wanted to be away from people. I wanted to disappear for the day. I just wanted it to go away.

But there's no running away from reality...so I composed myself and decided to go grocery shopping before we had to leave to pick up the boys and head up north. Don't ask me why. I don't know why. I just needed to go somewhere where I was anonymous and could just blend in. What I didn't realize was how many people would be at the store at 8am buying flowers for their moms. And then that just made me even more angry. I picked up my few groceries and headed home.

We left to pick up the boys and I couldn't get rid of the sadness. I was so happy to have them with me, but I couldn't make the sadness go away.

We got to the cemetery and there were so many people there...which I expected. But my hope that I could go and just fall apart didn't work as well because I felt inhibited by all the people there. However, after about 5 minutes or so, I had a good cry with mom and, as I usually do, I felt a sense of peace overtake me. It was good and much-needed in order to help me get through my day.

My spirits lifted a little. I checked my e-mail from my phone and had beautiful messages from several people letting me know they were thinking of me today and commenting on my mothering with such kind words. I have incredible friends.

By the time we got to dad's, I was feeling a little better, but boy, were my eyes just burning and puffy! I asked dad if he'd be open to going to the casino and gambling a little in honor of mom. He said sure so he and I headed off and spent about an hour and a half at the casino (thank you Olly for staying at dad's and watching the boys so we could do this!). It was packed and there were moments when I felt bitter and angry about how many women were there with their mothers and how many women I saw there who were significantly older than my mom would ever get to be. But for the most part, it was exactly what I felt like I should be doing today. I am not a gambler, but mom loved it and I knew that to fully honor her on Mother's Day a trip to the casino was necessary. And I was right. It felt perfect.

Dad and I didn't get any luck from mom and left with less than we came in with...except it was the best part of my day. And that was worth it. :-)

It's 6:30pm now and Mother's Day is nearing it's close and I am grateful for that. Nonetheless, the day did improve from this morning and I'm glad I made the trip up north to be with dad. I don't know when Mother's Day will feel like it's a day about me, but I'm sure it will come in time. This year it was about my mom. And that felt like the way it should be.

I found some wonderful comments about the loss of a mother and the words of these authors resonate with me very deeply.

Christopher Buckley (son of William F. Buckely Jr.) was interviewed by AARP magazine about losing both his parents. The interviewer asked him, "It's been said that the relationship with one's parents doesn't end with their loss, but it does change." and his answer was, "It never goes away, and they never go away. Your parents are your ultimate protectors, and no matter what difficulties you're having with them when they're alive, you can always pick up the phone and hear their voices. They provide a certain level of comfort—just knowing they're there. They're like fire extinguishers mounted on the wall behind glass. You know if it really comes to it, you can break the glass. And now they're gone."

And that is EXACTLY how I feel. Mom and I had our moments. We had our ups and downs, but ultimately no matter where we were in our relationship, I knew that if I needed her, she would be right there on the other side of the phone. That is gone. And I do feel like one of my protectors is gone. My "fire extinguisher" is only half full now...

And Iris Krasnow, one of my favorite authors wrote a column about losing her mom several years back. These are some of my favorite excerpts...you can read the full article here:
http://www.aarpmagazine.org/people/on_my_own_iris_krasnow.html (and yes...I'm spending time on the AARP website...I had to look it up for my Social Gerontology class this term and have fallen in love with it...what that says about me...I don't know...;-))

"She watched my hair turn gray, my arthritis set in, and my four baby boys become teens with stubble. Yet to Helene Krasnow, no matter my age, I was always her little girl. At times now, without her, I feel like one. I'm old enough to be a grandma myself, but this slap of loss leaves me heaving, at odd moments, with kindergarten sobs. No one loves a daughter like her mother—even at times when it doesn’t feel like love, when that love confuses, annoys, suffocates. She is a mirror and an anchor. She is the person I counted on to push my hair out of my eyes, to buffer me from bullies, to lead the way.

After more than half a century together, separating is staggering. Today I grieve for a woman who not only grilled my cheese sandwiches until I was 18 but also grew into my drinking buddy (vodka martinis, slightly dirty, two olives), staunch advocate, staunch adversary, the most loyal girlfriend I will ever have. My mother preserved my whole history as if it were a precious quilt, patching together stages with pictures and notes, keeping the sprawling bolt of fabric intact. And when that primal and seemingly ancient connection was cut, it was like being yanked from the womb again—only it was way tougher than the first time. She grew on me and in me, and the distinction of selves became blurred. We shared a heart."

"What I learned during those final months was that resolving your relationship with your mother while she's alive makes for a more centered, settled self when she dies. With clarity and closure, the jolting passage from girl to woman born at my mother's burial was more emancipating than debilitating. Only when my mother moved on was I able to take the best of her, leave the worst behind, and become an unstoppable blend of the two of us.

Surging with the spirit of Helene, I am surprisingly giddy with a sense of adventure and invincibility that is rising like a phoenix from the ashes of grief. I am relieved that she is no longer suffering. I am released to become an unbridled woman who doesn’t have to please anyone anymore. For as long as I can remember, I would hesitate before making major decisions, gauging my moves on: “Would Mom approve?” Mom is someone else now, the power that fuels me, but no longer my judge. I am free.

I can write my first work of fiction, and it can be the most raw and sexual piece of beach trash anyone has ever devoured on a vacation.

I can wear hippie skirts and unkempt hair and not be greeted with a dramatic eye roll.

I can learn to mother myself; it's about time.

I can be absolutely fearless, since one of my biggest fears has already occurred—I lost my mother, and I am okay.

Each afternoon, I talk to her photograph, a shot of her as a wild-haired teen with a seductive grin. The picture is next to a pumpkin-spice candle, both placed on a silk scarf she adored. By the pungent flicker of the flame, I am awash in certainty that we are one. I wailed when my mom was dying and wondered: “Who will I be when my mother is gone?” Standing on the other side, I am happy to discover who that person is: I am my mother's daughter, an adult woman who will persevere. I could live another 40 years, and she prepared me well to make this voyage without her, however lonely it may get."

Aaaahhhh...I love Iris Krasnow and her words deeply touched my heart in ways that I simply can't explain. It is though she is speaking for me.

I survived another holiday. Honestly, it was the hardest so far. Mom's birthday is next. And then, somehow, I will feel like I have survived it all. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Dad's Birthday, Easter, My Birthday, Mother's Day, Mom's Birthday. Those are the biggees and I've almost survived them all. Mom and Dad's anniversary in September and the anniversary of mom's death in October will be hard, but I feel like today was truly the hardest. And look at me...I'm still breathing. This morning I was hyperventilating, but tonight I am breathing well. I am at peace with the first Mother's Day without my mom as the day comes to an end. I am glad to send it away and wish it well. But I made it through. I honored my mom in a way I know had her smiling.

Thank you to everyone who checked in on me today and let me know you were thinking of me. You have no idea how much those little notes helped me get through today.

I may no longer have my mom, but I have an incredible family and incredible friends and I am blessed to work in a job where I continuously witness women becoming mothers. It's wonderful work.

Term 5 starts tomorrow. It's back to the grind for the next 32 weeks straight. But I can survive anything. I know that without a doubt these days. That doesn't mean I won't stumble, but I will get up, brush myself off, and get right back on track knowing that "this too shall pass".

My mom taught me that...

Happy Mother's Day Mom! I love you!