I’m writing this on Mother’s Day. This is my fourth Mother’s Day as a mom, and my second without my mother. My mother is living, but no longer a part of our lives. Many factors play into her absence. Some factors can only be explained by mental illness, as there can be no other rational explanation for a mother’s conscious choice to exit her child (and grandchild’s) life.
As I sit here amongst a beautiful display of flowers and chocolates while witnessing my vibrant son play with his toys, I am struck by polarizing emotions; one of gratitude and one of grief. I am so overcome with the tremendous joy that motherhood brings. I have been given the chance to raise this beautiful little human. To watch him learn, laugh, and thrive- there is no greater gift.
Within seconds however, my emotions float over to the side of grief, where anger and depression live. The anger boils as I wonder why anyone would throw away the opportunity to be a part of my son’s life. How dare anyone hurt my family in this way; to reject being involved in a life as innocent as his.
Then the sadness kicks in. Partly for the wish that the situation could be different, but mostly because of the awareness that the situation never will.
I am learning how to exist with polarizing emotions, as so much of motherhood has me living in a paradox. In the beginning, I learned how stay awake when all I wanted so desperately was to sleep. I would long for some alone time only to miss my family the moment I had peace and quiet. I learned that the cliché is true; the days are long, but the years go by fast. And now, I am learning to hold gratitude amidst grief.
My eyes wander back to the bouquet of flowers I received. As I look closer, I see some flowers just beginning to bud while some are in full bloom. There are a few also dead on the vine. Some of it is beautiful. Some of it just is. I look even further down to see a strong and sturdy vase. I have not noticed the vase before. But it is always there, a sturdy force holding up the vast variety of flowers. For the first time, I am appreciating the vase and all that it holds.
Motherhood for me holds many things. Most of it beautiful. Some of it hopeful. And some of it just is. It’s a bitter sweetness that I am proud to hold.
