A lot has happened since the last time I wrote in this blog. I could tell you all about my awesome (but underpaid) job, how much fun I had during my random evening adventures in DC, I could write about my frustration and confusion with the events that happened in Baltimore this past week, or I could beam about my wonderful and handsome boyfriend - who I met during my last week on ChristianMingle.com- but I'm sure you've already read all of that on Facebook. Tonight, as it weighs a heavy and rather private, until now, thought on my mind, I want to write about Mother's Day.
Mother's Day, a modern American holiday first celebrated in 1908 when Anna Jarvis held a memorial for her mother who had passed in 1905. It's day to thank our moms for all that they have done for us and the sacrifices they have made to put their families first. When we're small, we make her handmade cards and drawings and, sometimes, our dad's help us purchase something nice for her. As we get older, we begin to treat her to dinner, send store-bought cards, flowers, or pick out fancy gifts from the store. Sometimes, we do this in lieu of spending time with our dear mothers. However, as we get older, we realize that quality time is, and always has been, more important than fancy gifts. We realize that mom won't always be around. She'll share stories about your time together, not the items you bought her.
For many, Mother's Day, just like many other holidays, is a difficult day. Some have never had someone they could call "Mom." Others have lost their moms to illness, accidents, crime, or old age. Some women lost the children who made them mothers, some long to be a mom but have not been able to, and others have lost their children before they ever even get the chance to hold them. It wasn't until today that I realized that I still have a lot of bottled up emotion. You see friends, I fall into this latter category. Mother's Day this year would have marked the start of my third trimester. I would have known my baby's gender by now and she or he would be opening his or her eyes this week.
My biggest goal in life has always been to raise a family (cliche, I know). I waited nearly 29 years before finding the man who perfects me. While many religious traditions would tell us that we are doing it backwards and point out the sin of not being married, we were genuinely excited. Scared out of our minds but excited. Then, in January, the heartbreaking news came - no heart beat. I prayed for a "little miracle," but the next week's ultrasound remained the same. My doctor called to inform me that I had had a missed miscarriage. After three weeks of my body not passing the miscarriage on its own, I started to develop an infection and had to have surgery for what was labeled as a life-threatening spontaneous abortion.
I cried at random times for weeks. During the first two weeks after my surgery, there was literally another pregnancy announcement at the top of my Facebook newsfeed every day. At lunch, a new mom talked continuously about how hard it is to be a mom. I frequently had to excuse myself from the room, thinking about how I'd give anything to have to be up all night if it meant meeting my child. At a training, one person talked about serious pregnancy complications which led three or four other people talking about having their premature babies. I choked back tears again. A few weeks later, one of my student's regular educations teacher's was celebrating finding out that her baby was a boy. Her students made her congratulations cards, she wore a t-shirt with "It's a boy" in big, bold letters. I, jerkily, avoided the topic. Tonight, I cry over how much I'm ready to be a mom. I'm ready to have a my own little family. I cry because when I chose to only reach out to a few friends before I processed everything on my own, many of those chosen friends faded into the distance without even checking in on me. I cry because the one friend who I've tried calling half a dozen times to tell her what has been going on, never even picked up the phone to call me back. I cry because I'm exhausted from always being the one to reach out. Yet, I smile because I have faith and know that there is hope. I smile because I have a friend who came to see me after my surgery, and one who sent me a card, without even knowing what was going on. I smile because I do have a handful of friends who have thought of me. I beam because I have a wonderful and supportive boyfriend. He might not always know what to do or say when I cry. He might not understand the emotional toll that the loss had on me but he loves me and is there for me.
