That Circled Red Date

How do you celebrate days that hurt?  We are told holidays are supposed to be joyous and time for celebration.  We are given days on a calendar that we are supposed to circle with a red marker and automatically be happy and look forward to.  We look at each other and say, “Happy (insert holiday here.”  The magical Happy Memory Fairy sprinkles their glittery shit around and everyone giggles and happy dances and good moments are made.  That’s what happens…right?

Except, this is the real world and not some Rom-Com.  In the real world, real people see that red marker and around those holidays and feel pain and anxiety.  The memories aren’t always good.  They remember the loss that came around that holiday and the people who won’t be there to celebrate it or maybe the ones who weren’t ever there. Every “Happy ________” comes with a fake smile and some suppressed tears as the knife in the heart twists one more time.

Mother’s Day…Hell, the whole fucking month of May is shitty in my eyes.  I hate it.  I hate every damn day of May.  It doesn’t matter how hard I try to find good things, I have an overwhelming depression that just takes over.  I don’t even realize it is happening.  Spring was my favorite season…once upon a time.  Once upon a time before I knew how much my heart could hurt.  Spring always signified newness.  The Earth was being reborn.  Flowers were growing.  The buds on the trees showed me we once again could come alive after being dormant after what seemed like forever.  Yet, now without my knowledge it is almost like the darkest storms of Spring take over my heart with no promise of the tomorrow it truly offers.

When I was little and you would ask me what I wanted to be, my answer would always be “a mom.”  I wanted to be a mom.  More than anything I wanted babies.  I wanted 4.  A big brother, two girls and a little brother.  I wanted to be the best mom in the world.  I would love those babies more than anything.  Even though I was the most “developed” of my friends (and sisters) I got my period after them.  Then it was weird.  I found out I had Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome and it was going to be hard to have kids but I didn’t care.  I was having them.  Lots and Lots of babies!  I had my son MJ when I was 20.  He was a miracle birth to say the least and left me highly damaged but the second I saw him.  I knew I was right.  I was born to be a mom.  From that moment on, my life became about being a just his mom.  Until this very breath, he is my heart and soul.

We were told kids after MJ weren’t likely but I wasn’t giving up.  One year turned into two years turned into three and my hopes started to diminish.  By the time MJ was five I was resolved that he was going to be an only child from us but we had talked greatly about adoption.  I had been sick for sometime only to find out I was pregnant.  Nothing could describe my surprise or my elation.  I went back to the if you want something bad enough…in time, you’ll get it.  My pregnancy was horrible.  My whole pregnancy with Elizabeth, I felt overprotective of her.  My heart knew I would never bring her home from the hospital.  My heart knew her big brother would never kiss her face.  My heart knew she was never really mine.  Yet, I loved her fiercely and deeply.

May 25th, 2005, I woke up in the morning after the worst sleep.  I have never experienced pain like I was.  My heart and soul knew this was the day.  I had been bleeding for weeks and even though the doctor’s said it was okay, I knew it wasn’t.  I sat on my living room floor crying.  I begged God not to take my baby.  I begged please let me keep her.  MJ sat in my lap, I will never forget him asking me, “Mama, why can’t we keep my sister?  Am I a bad brother?”  I drove my husband and myself to the hospital (I have control problems.)  I was in surgery right away.  My placenta had ruptured.  There was no way to save my sweet girl.  It was too late.  I was never able to hold my girl.  Never able hold her hands, kiss her cheeks or tell her I love her.  Saving me was more important to the doctors.  I don’t know if they know in that they are slowly killing me.

So Mother’s Day hurts my soul.  12 years ago, I was the happiest Mother on Earth with a beautiful son carrying my daughter just waiting to love her Earthbound body.  This Mother’s Day.  I grieve.  I grieve for my son who wants nothing more than to be a big brother.  I grieve for the tears I keep hidden until everyone sleeps.  I grieve for the toxic mother I have walked away from.  I grieve for the empty arms I have.  I grieve for the mothers who have lost, who can’t, who long…This Mother’s Day…I grieve for the red marker.


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