Our First Mother's Day Without You

Before I start, I want to wish a Happy Mother’s day to the mom’s mourning their babe in heaven they never got to bring home. I want to wish a Happy Mother’s day to the moms who have experienced the loss of a child at any age from 1 year to 51 years, it does not matter. And I want to wish a Happy Mother’s day to all of the sweet mothers in heaven, including my own.

A few weeks ago I stood in the canned vegetable aisle at Kroger with a tear rolling down my face behind my mask silently remembering my mom. I was remembering her cooking and teaching me how to cook. I was wishing I could call or text her so I could ask her how many cans I should get to make the recipe I was making. I felt like my throat was closing, and I just wanted to teleport to my bed. I wanted to leave my full cart in the middle of Kroger, and I wanted to go home.

That is the thing about grief. It sneaks in the middle of the mundane, the regular, and the usual and rears its head to make it known it hasn’t forgotten you. Everyone has told me today would be hard, and it definitely is. But it is not as hard as the moments no one can warn you about. I knew today was going to have moments of pain, but it is the moments and instances that creep up on you without warning that seem to hurt the most. The throat closing, tears streaming, heart stabbing moments. Did you know canned green beans could cause such feelings? Me either.

My mom and I had a lot of personality differences. We had different moments, and during my younger twenties we weren’t the closest. I had worked at my mental health and repairing unhealthy habits to become the best version of myself the last few months of her life. I am thankful for every moment I had her here, but I wish I would have appreciated her more while she was here. Everyone always tells you that you will miss someone so much, and it is so true. But you will also replay every “simple” moment and every moment where you didn’t agree also. I try my hardest to remember the good moments, but I also wish I would have treasured them when they were taking place. But it isn’t the easiest to remember that on the hard days. When my mom was on the ventilator I would face-time her even though it was incredibly painful, I felt like I NEEDED to show up for her and talk to her. I knew in my heart that I needed to talk to her, even if she couldn’t respond. I don’t regret one moment of those calls.

I am always getting online trying to encourage people to meet their feelings where they are. Some weeks I can easily get online without much effort, cheering other people on. Other weeks I feel like it is really hard and honestly it has just been that way for the past few weeks. It has just felt like I’ve been stuck in glue trying to run. I come home from work, and I crawl into bed. I spend too much time on the couch. I feel like I don’t want to really go anywhere or do anything. I just feel kind of stuck in time, trying to still process things, trying to process things like one of the hardest days of my life.

One of the hardest days of my life was when the hospital called for us to “Say Goodbye”. I hate that saying. I knew in that moment Makenzie and I weren’t saying goodbye, but see you later. Talking about those moments are so private and indescribable, I really can’t explain it. Until it’s you, you don’t understand what it all means. When we were done spending time with her, Makenzie and I grabbed all of her belongings out of her hospital room to take with us, and we came back to my house to be around everyone we loved. We sat all of her belongings down in Walter and I’s living room, and I haven’t touched them since. I went through her purse at one point, but trying to unpack her overnight bag, the clean clothes she had planned to go home in, her makeup and tennis shoes, her medications, and brush….all items I can’t bear to move or touch.

Time is moving so fast. It has already somehow almost been six months. But when I’m cleaning my house, and I’m forced to stare at those things, and it feels like yesterday. It feels like its December, and my throat feels like it is closing. My heart feels like it is being stabbed, and I am instantly reminded of how she will never wear her robe or put on those shoes again. I guess this seems more like a rant than a blog post, but I just wanted any person struggling with missing their mom to know it never goes away. It never really escapes you. It is possible to feel all of the feelings. Meet your feelings where they are and never deny them. Whether it is in your living room or in the canned vegetable aisle at Kroger, meet your grief and embrace it when it sneaks up on you; it is a testament of your love for that person. So for now, my mom’s things will sit in my living room until I feel strong enough to put them away- whatever that might entail.

My disclaimer to anything I ever write about my mother is this: My mom and I were not the closest in my adult years. I remember my mom best when I was a child, from what I can remember. But we talked every day for the last 3 months of her life, and I am going to treasure those months as well as my entire childhood that I can remember fondly. But I do not want anyone pointing the finger at me as though I am painting a perfect relationship, because it was so far from. But I did love her, I do miss her, and I am grieving her.