I’m not a commercial holiday kind of girl. I’m sure there are a million posts sitting in my Bloglovin’ reader just waiting to be read telling me how awesome Mother’s Day is. I’m sure they are great posts. I may read them. Maybe.
I can remember the first time I “celebrated” Mother’s Day with my mom. I was about 2 months pregnant and I was in town visiting for the weekend. I surprised her that morning with a frame that said, “Hi Grandma” and a picture of Ava’s ultrasound. She squealed with excitement. She was so happy. We went to church that morning with my grandparents. When it was time for all of the mothers to stand up and be honored and receive a small gift, I stood up. I was so proud. I grew up in that church and watched all the mothers get up each year. I never gave it much thought.
Till it was my turn.
My grandma was standing smiling, my mom was standing next to me, and I was grinning like a fool waiting for my grandma to notice. Then she realized what was going on and was so excited. It was awesome.
The next year was incredibly different. We didn’t go to church, no one was squealing with joy.
My mom was sick. Very.
This time Ava was five months old.
And my mom had been battling cancer for about 10 months.
This time was the last time.
I was sitting next to her wheelchair as we ate the steaks that my grandpa carefully grilled for us. My mom liked her meat rare for some reason then. I still remember we were watching her as she slowly and carefully ate, the blood nearly dripping from her steak. She looked at us with the fire in her eyes that had gone dormant, and she joked about being a vampire. Or liking blood. Or something. We were so caught off guard that she was trying to be silly that we both stopped and then started to laugh.
She was tiny. She was weak.
She wasn’t my mom. The cancer had spread everywhere and had fundamentally changed her personality.
I night she went to the hospital.
That Friday she died.
It was our first and last Mother’s Day with Ava.
So yeah, I prefer to pass these two weeks. I think about Allie’s birthday and how she’ll be turning 2. But the happiness is bittersweet because my heart breaks knowing that my mom never got to see her. Allie is a tiny ball of fire. She looks like me and my mom. She’s so silly and spunky. I wanted them both to know her. I think of all the coulda shoulda woulda if she was here.
And I just want to pass.
All of it.
I got some good advice on Saturday after pretty much breaking down during a run that I went on to escape the sads. Now if I could just make my brain cooperate and heed the advice. It had been a long time since I’d been hit that hard. It hurt. I swear sometimes it just can’t be real.
Even 7 years later.