I woke up Saturday morning in a funk that I had a hard time shaking for a good part of the day. At first, I didn’t specifically identify it and couldn’t figure out why I was so grumpy. Yeah, you’d think I’d realize by now. Mother’s Day was the next day.
Sometimes the day or days before an “event” – birthday, anniversary of Jason’s death, holiday, Mother’s Day, etc. – are harder than the actual day. Anticipatory grief takes the lead, I think, whether or not we allow ourselves to be consciously aware of the upcoming event. Since Jason died, I just want to skip over Mother’s Day entirely. It just brings up too much pain – pain of wishing I had been a better mother, pain of things that haven’t turned out the way I wish they had, pain of things and times long gone, pain of losing Jason.
I slept horribly on Saturday night. I laid in bed thinking about times when I could have done a better job as a mother, things I wish I had done differently. I woke up on Sunday morning and didn’t want to get out of bed. I stood in the shower and cried. I did the best I could at the time with what I knew at the time, but there are so many things I wish I could do over again, do better.
When I was in fourth grade, I remember our teacher asking us what we’d like to be when we grew up. The only thing I ever wanted to be was a mother, so that was what I said. For some reason, the teacher didn’t think that was an adequate answer and wanted me to think of something else, a “real” profession. Because both of my parents were teachers, that’s what I told him I wanted to be, just to appease his sense of what the “right” answer should be. But all I ever wanted to be was a mother.
My husband took me out to breakfast for Mother’s Day and, as the waitress wished me a Happy Mother’s Day, tears sprang up in my eyes and I could hardly speak. I’m sure she wondered what was wrong with me. She gave me a red rose when we got ready to leave, once again wishing me a Happy Mother’s Day – and once again tears filled my eyes. Roses always remind me of Jason.
My arms long to hug my precious boy. I long to have a close, fun, good relationship with our grandchildren. I long for good relationships with our children’s spouses; it would make things so much easier. I long for joy unshadowed by grief and regrets. I long to be close to family so we don’t feel so alone all the time.
My husband is a wonderful man. We went for a drive in the North Carolina mountains and explored. We talked about Jason and some fun memories of when he was a little boy. We talked about the girl we thought he might marry and how wonderful that would have been. We talked about how much we wanted good things for our kids and how we wish we had the power to make things better for them. We talked about a lot of things, but mostly just got away for the day. We ended the day going to our favorite Thai restaurant and then home to talk to our daughter on the phone and open the gift she had sent me for Mother’s Day. She is also a thoughtful, wonderful person and I love her with my whole heart.
Another Mother’s Day is in the books, and I’m glad it’s behind me. I will forever be thankful that I was given the gift of being Jason’s mom. I will forever miss him and wish he was here. My precious boy.
© 2021 Rebecca R. Carney