White-Knuckling Mother's Day When There's No Other Choice
What else would I talk about this week, right?
“How do you feel about this upcoming weekend?”
That’s the question my grief counselor opened with when we met online this week. I’m sure she already knew the answer but was doing her due diligence anyway.
“I feel like crap about it,” I answered honestly. “Mother’s Day sucks.”
I went back and forth on whether I should even write about it because what else is there to say? But my husband pointed out that it would seem weird to not even mention it, given what this newsletter is about. Something about acknowledging the elephant in the room.
So here I am.
Mother’s Day is fraught with feelings for so many people, even those who haven’t lost a child, so I know I’m not the only one in the world white-knuckling it every year. At least some retailers are allowing people to opt out of their MD-related advertising campaigns, but there’s no avoiding the onslaught entirely. I kid you not, there was even a huge banner at the drive-though car wash the other day announcing gift cards were available for the big day.
I always feel terrible for mothers who are obligated to celebrate with friends and family when they’d rather be under the bed all day. All the pretense must be terrible; pasting on a smile while pretending your heart isn’t smashed into dust.
Mercifully, I’ll be alone this year. My mother and two older sons (…remaining?…living?…what’s the right word?) live out of state, so seeing them isn’t an option. Since we’re all vaccinated, my husband will finally get to spend time with his mother on Sunday for the first time in over a year, so he won’t be here either.1 Frankly, I prefer it this way because I won’t have to worry I’m bringing everyone down. I can just sit here in my sadness and be sad.
I don’t plan to brood about it all day, though. There’s a movie I’ve been wanting to watch and Cheez-Its were buy one, get one free at Publix, so I’m good. I’ll give myself the day off from responsibility and pretend MD isn’t even happening. I’ll just binge on crackers and avoidance until bedtime.
Anyway, melancholy isn’t the emotion I associate with Mother’s Day. It’s low-key resentment of all the hype that surrounds it because it brings all my feelings of failure to the surface.
Being a single parent makes you vulnerable to criticism and ruthlessness I never experienced when I was married to my kids’ father (midwestern misogyny in the early 2000’s was exponentially worse than anything I’ve dealt with since). The constant undermining and relentless disparagement gets you right in the jugular, bleeding out your confidence until there’s nothing left. I’ve never really recovered and Mother’s Day brings all the buried feelings rushing back to the surface.
Now imagine grappling with those feelings and your child’s suicide at the same time.
The logical part of my brain knows that Christopher’s decision to take his life was not because he thought I was a terrible mother. In fact, if there is any mercy in what happened, it’s that the things he said to me in the days leading up to his death reassure me he felt the complete opposite. Regardless, a part of me will always feel I failed him.
In fact, my imperfections as a single parent were exploited to the point that I feel I’ve failed all my kids. If that’s the case, do I even have the right to call myself a mother anymore?
Of course I do, despite sometimes feeling like nothing more than an egg donor. It’s just... I used to be so proud of being a mother, and so proud of my boys. I’m still proud of them, but now feel like they grew up to be incredible young men despite having me as a mother. Hear something long enough and you eventually believe it.
That’s a terrible feeling to live with, but I was getting by until losing Christopher took the last of the wind out of my sails. I was already grieving the loss of the future I’d dreamed of having with my children when they were born, now I’m grieving the loss of my actual child. Together, it often feels like too much to bear.
These are the things I wrestle with in counseling. Not just this time of year, but year-round. Mother’s Day just brings all the feelings I try so hard to tamp down the other 364 days, and it’s wretched, and the only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that I did the best I could. That’s all I’ve got.
News & Notes
Why We Dread Mental Health Awareness Week Every Year
“Having fun, having a laugh with others, is never given the credit it deserves. Why isn’t it central to all services dealing with people with mental health? ”
Mental health issues are still too stigmatized for this right now but I do wish for a bit more levity at times. I think a less maudlin approach would particularly benefit children and young adults who are already intimidated in these situations.
Trapped In A World Between Living And Dead
“No matter how much I try to adjust to a world without my child, the tether continues to pull on me. And after talking with many bereaved parents over the past decade, most of them feel the same. As a result, bereaved parents continually feel the dead part of us that lies deep within. Even years and decades after our children died.”
This is the cold reality for many grieving parents, but the article explains how it can also be a comfort. Grief is so weird.
How a Grieving Orca Made ‘Ghost Mothers’ Like Me Visible
“People say you truly become a mother when you hold your child in your arms for the first time. I say it is when we first learn that mothering will be a long process of letting go. ”
It’s been 25 years since this writer’s son died and she still struggles, just differently. Stories like this give me hope.
Thanks for reading this edition of The Vilomah Project newsletter. Please share it to help grieving parents find and support each other. Subscribers are always welcome.
Until next week,
Be well.
Lisa
I was invited but they both understand why I bowed out.