Mothers' Day

This will officially be my last post.

On this blog, anyway. And that may not come as a surprise considering how rarely I write (It’s not for lack of desire to or ideas, I assure you!)

The past 14 months (to the day) have been a whirlwind to say the least. “Life” is, always, but nothing can ever fully or properly prepare you for becoming a parent. I was bad at prioritizing my passions pre-baby. Now, quite frankly, I’m useless.

Luckily I don’t see resolutions as being short-lived January-only opportunities. They’re ongoing, evolving, and forever changing (as we do). I’m hoping that starting a new blog will inspire me to write more, but I guess we’ll have to wait and see! 

In the meantime, I’ve had an idea floating in my head since Mothers’ Day 2015, and it seems like the perfect sign off for The Last Place I Left Her.

As I’ve mentioned - since my Mom’s passing - I’ve learned to love, admire, appreciate (and forgive) all she did as a mother more than I ever did when she was living. And I always thought I loved (and forgave) her plenty. Now that I’m a mother myself that respect has multiplied exponentially. This is one tough gig! If only I could love, accept and forgive myself the way I was able to with her. 

You’d think Mothers’ Day would be easier and more exciting now that I’m celebrating from a mother’s perspective, as opposed to as a motherless child.

Nope.

It was harder. Heavier. More conflicting. Strangling, even.

Social media gives us this fast lane highway to connect with the people we love (like, associate with, or even dislike). We see into people’s lives with a microscope they polish and hand us. For the most part, we share the good stuff and deny (or sugar coat) the rest. I know I’m guilty of this. I have consciously made that choice because of my ‘gratitude attitude’ and constant effort to look on the bright side. Still, our social media outlets often become platforms for bragging. I know I’m guilty of this, too, without ever intentionally doing it to hurt anyone.

Relishing in our joys, abundance and blessings can seem very ‘Nana Nana Boo Boo’, I know. It’s too bad we can’t just be happy for one another without twinges of envy or without being completely consumed by jealousy. In all honesty, I often think it’s too bad social media even exists. But that’s likely another blog post in itself.

I digress (as I always do)…

Mothers’ Day was hard. And I think it’s safe to say I’m not the only one who felt that way. It’s hard for so many unique and different reasons. In my moments of ‘woe is me’ I did my best to force myself out of my own shoes and imagine what it must be like for others. My mantra that often drags me out of the deep and dark places I sometimes tumble into is ‘It could always be worse’. And usually, that’s very true.

This year was hard for me because there were a lot of really awesome mother-child relationships flauntingly on display. I’ve never felt my Mom’s absence as much as I’ve felt it since having our son, but, it’s more than that. My Facebook feed and Instagram were flooded with beautiful photos and attached sentiments of stunning Mothers with their children. The accompanying words were some of the nicest I’ve ever read.

This woman is my best friend.

This woman sacrifices everything for our family.

This woman has loved me more than I can describe.

This is the strongest woman I know.

I couldn’t survive without this woman.

I go to this woman for everything.

This woman is the backbone of our family.

This woman is beautiful inside, and out.

This woman is one of the best people I know.

This woman is one of the kindest people I know.

This woman would do anything for anybody, and would never expect anything in return.

My honest reaction?

Must be nice [cue eye-roll]

I get real on this blog, with the good and the bad, and the truth is it often got bad in my childhood home. What I would have given to be held, complimented, supported and loved unconditionally. My Mom and I were close for our own reasons, and I truly loved and admired her in sickness and in health (physically and mentally). But it wasn’t always easy. It rarely was, actually. It didn’t come naturally, because a lot of what she did and said was unforgivable as a parent. The forgiving, loving and trying to understand was a choice I made (and continue to make) for my sake as much as it's for hers. And all of those lovey dovey Mama Bear photos and reflections filled me with a jealousy I found hard to shake.

I was able to look at my beautiful, healthy baby and think, “Hopefully he feels this way about me someday. Hopefully I’m that kind of Mom”. And all I can do from here on out is my very best. We’re human, in the end. Yes, even (and maybe especially) Mothers.

I could beat the topic to death, and will revisit it often in my new blog (stay tuned), but being a Mom is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It isn’t 'convenient'. It leaves you marinating in worry, guilt, fear, and exhaustion. Even with a stand up husband and hands-on Dad by my side, I still struggle.

Tell me again how my Mom functioned at all on her own?

But even admitting all of that, it’s the best thing I’ve ever done and will ever do, too. As much as it has stripped me bare and pushed me to my limits, it has also filled me up. I’m more complete now than I’ve ever been. It grabbed me by my shoulders and shook me hard and said, “This is what you’re meant to do”. In a world where I was wandering aimlessly in the dark wondering what that purpose would ever be.

Well I’ve found it. 

It’s in the feeling in my heart when I collect our boy from his crib when he wakes. Or when I hear my son saying his best rendition of Mom. It's watching him sleep, feeling him breathe, or feeling his heartbeat under my loving touch. It's the smell of his hair and the way it tickles my nose when he brings a book and climbs into my lap. It's when he collapses into my loving arms; out of excitement, for comfort, because of pain, or exhaustion. My arms are his safe place. We are a team. I would walk barefoot to the ends of the earth and back for his safety, his well-being and his joy. I can’t believe I ever questioned whether I’d ever do this. 

Having a child is a gamble, but it’s also an investment. What I give will come back tenfold. Maybe not always or ever in dollar signs, but where it truly counts.

On our drive home from the hospital, a mere 2 days after having our son, it suddenly hit me; someday, if he decides to get married, I will get to dance with him. Me. I’m that girl. I’m his Mom.

I don’t take this lightly, obviously. I even uttered this realization out loud that day and my husband – as usual – brought sense to me. Something along the lines of, “Whoa, can we at least get him home for the first time?”

Right.

We attended a most beautiful wedding in September. One of 2 we attended in the summer sans baby. We attended 4 in total, but those 2 nights sans babe are to date our only ‘date nights’ since having him, and you can’t really even call them that.

That time apart from our dude wasn’t easy for all kinds of reasons. You dream and hope for a break and time for ‘you’ (and time for you and your man), and then the moment you’re leaving them behind your heart aches. You miss them before you’re even gone! What a sick and twisted web we weave!

At this particular wedding (the last of the 4 we attended) I was especially emotional. Listen, I’m an emotional person to begin with. I’m insanely sensitive and cry at the drop of a hat; weddings have never been an exception to that. But this past summer, all 4 had an especially strong effect on me. I watched grown men getting married. I watched them walk their mothers to their seats. I saw the pride in their mothers’ eyes. I saw the joy and the love but I also saw the heartache. The realization that the little boy they grew, birthed, raised, and have worried about every moment of every day since knowing he existed is now ‘somebody else’s’? What an emotional tug of war!

At this wedding in September, where we watched the youngest son of 3 boys marry the love of his life, it hit me harder than usual. Come to think of it, the first of the 4 weddings we attended was the middle son’s - of the same family - so I’d had the privilege and honour of watching the same loving couple “give away” 2 of their boys in one summer. That is a very big deal. Thankfully all 3 of their boys have picked the kind of women you wouldn't lose sleep over as a parent. That's somethin'

I’ve realized - since having a child - that my biggest wish and hope is that my children choose partners that are kind, trustworthy and who have good intentions. I may not be able to pick who my children fall in love with (how scary is that?!) but I hope that they pick life partners my husband and I will have full faith in. 

September’s wedding was an anomaly for other reasons. The bride and groom both come from families where their Mom and Dad are still happily in love. The bride and groom are also exceptionally close to their siblings (and their siblings’ partners). There was no fear of tension, no chance of altercation, no history of navigating a broken family or a past laced with tension and instability. I was in awe of the beauty of the day, the couple, and how everything came together. And I was also riddled with jealousy.

Thankfully when I feel jealous I don’t get angry. It doesn’t send me down a hateful spiral. I would never wish ill on a person I’m envious of. I can see why the jealousy exists and I keep it at arm’s length. My love of the couple and appreciation for their gifts won, wholeheartedly, but I cried – a lot. 

It was inspiring as a mother to see how well these ‘children’ have turned out. It was evident how helpful a loving home can be in the growth and development of these tiny humans we bring to the world.

After a couple of drinks I had to reach out to the groom’s mother, who I know fairly well. I got real with her. I wanted her secrets. How can I be sure my kids grow up and love me the way her boys love her? How can I be sure my kids have good and giving hearts? How can I raise my children so that they choose life partners I love as if they're my own?

This woman makes it look easy.

So I asked her if she ever found it hard. I asked if she ever struggled. I asked if she ever wanted to pull her hair out and throw in the towel. Did she ever lose her cool?

You’d have to see her and know her to fully imagine her response, but it was candid, comforting, and raw. Without going into details (partly because they’re blurry and I don’t want to get them wrong) it wasn’t - and isn’t - always easy for her any more than it is for me. The biggest lesson? What I've taken from what she had to say? Do my best. Don’t break your children’s spirits or hearts. If you do lose your cool, own it and apologize. Show them that it happens and then show them how to fix it. Be gentler on myself. Love myself. Forgive myself.

Treat myself the way my mother should have; with unconditional love, support, understanding and forgiveness.

I’m working on it.

Part of my ‘working on it’ is seeing a therapist when I feel like the anchor on my ankles isn’t kickable, and the tide is coming in. When I told her (right before Mothers’ Day) that I wanted to write about how hard it all is, she was intrigued. I told her my reasons why I struggle and then our conversation went in all kinds of other directions that gave me so much perspective. She said, “Imagine what Mothers’ Day is like for women who have lost a child? Or, for ones that haven’t been able to conceive and want nothing more in this life than to be mothers? What about the mothers without husbands like yours?”

Oh right. Yes. All of that.

I follow an Instagram account of a woman whose first born child only lived a few days. She has since found out why his health was compromised, and now has a healthy baby girl (thankgoodness - her strength and stamina makes me weep). Witnessing how she wrestles with her reality puts mine into perspective. 

I once wrote on one of her pictures and reflections how much I am learning from her.

I told her that sometimes my rubber boots get stuck in the muck of motherhood. The years may be short, but sometimes the days are so, so interminably long. Sometimes I feel so trapped. Sometimes I feel like I’m caught and I can’t budge, and all of the demands of this all-important and all-encompassing job make me feel claustrophobic. I’ve admittedly had (very short lived) moments where I’ve even said, “What was I thinking? I’m so not cut out for this”

And then I see a post about a baby who didn’t make it. A reflection from a mother who has had to burry a child far too young. Or I spend time with a friend who is fighting a heart-breaking battle with fertility.

Suddenly someone has my hands and I’m being pulled from the mire that’s consuming me. I come straight out of those mucky boots and I leave them behind. Barefoot and grounded. Reminded of my blessings. Reminded that I’m not the only one having good days, and bad. High points, and lows. Moments of elation mixed with complete and utter trepidation.

My latest conclusion is that my perfectionism is the problem. There truly is no such thing as a perfect mother. The main thing I have to remember is that doing my best, with good intention, is more than many can say. The sheer fact that I’m so concerned about being ‘good enough’ is likely proof that I am.

I loved and forgave my mother despite her short-comings, and wouldn’t have actually had it any other way. At the end of the day our good moments just have to outweigh our bad. The joy we bring must shine brighter than the moments where we’ve dimmed the lights. The love we show must wrap its arms around our children despite moments of frustration, disappointment, and consequences. At the end of the day our children are as human as we are, and we have to cut ourselves some slack. 

Doing our best is more than enough.

My Mom was more than enough.

I am enough.

P.S. Mothers’ Day should be every day, no? Just sayin’…