Mother’s Day..or the day that isn’t

I miss my mom..every day. I have no idea what kind of relationship we would have today.  We had our ups and downs and she died when I was 25- before we were able to have an “adult” relationship.  I don’t know how she would feel about where I am in life today or the things I have or haven’t done.  But I sure wish I could feel her love and support, hear her voice, telling me I’m going to be alright.

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day.  I have hated it ever since she passed.  It is hard watching other people celebrating someone that you no longer have in your life.  Still I would go visit her burial site, next to my dad’s,  and bring her flowers or just sit there to be near them both.  Someday I would bring my children here, tell them about her and share the love she gave me as a child.  This hope made the day easier to get through.

Over the years,going to church on Mother’s Day and seeing all the women stand up when the pastor would ask for all the mothers to stand up was awkward but I knew someday, I too would be standing proudly- happy with my kids around me. As the years passed, I stopped going.  The older I got, the more I felt eyes on me.  What’s wrong with you? Where are yours?

In my early thirties, I dated the wrong guys. I was always upfront about wanting to be a mom someday. They said they wanted to settle down, have kids- just not right then. One even wrote me a letter about the white picket fence life he pictured in his head for us.  I moved my life for him- he turned out to be an abusive alcoholic. Got out of there thankfully.  Another one wasn’t ready- we broke up because I wasn’t going to waste more time. He came back a few months later saying he had changed his mind.  Guess what? Turns out he hadn’t.  Another year gone. Thanks for leading me on and wasting my time.

I finally met my husband- or reconnected I should say.  We’ve been friends since I was 19.  He was friends with a guy I dated briefly in college and he and I stayed friends.  We were in touch on and off for 20 years.  I heard about his horror stories of dating and his first wife (Woo!  She was a crazy train ride) and he heard about mine. I called him when my dog died because I’d had her in college and he had known her. We lost contact for a few years but he found me on Facebook. We’ve been together almost 6 years and married for almost 4.  He has always wanted kids and would be a great dad.  So I had hope again.

That didn’t last long.  Five weeks after our wedding I had a miscarriage. I was only 3 weeks at best and had only known for 5 days.  I’d never felt so alone in my life.  Everything I had ever wanted to be was gone.  My doctor’s office treated me like a number.  My husband didn’t know how to handle my grief and I laid on the couch feeling like a failure, betrayed by my body.  Every woman I saw outside I felt could see what a failure I was.  It felt like his parents would look at me and think why did you marry someone that can’t even do this one simple thing?  I wanted, needed my mom.  She had had 2 m/c’s after my older brother- even though she never talked about it much because I had been too young when I found out, I knew she would have understood. She would have held me while I cried. But she wasn’t there and that made me feel worse. Strangely, my boss at the time, was one of the best with me, I was back at work before we got the “official news” and when the call came, he made me go home.  Told me to take as much time as I needed.  He never asked  for details but for months afterward, he always checked in on me.  As we started fertility treatments, he was always there with a supportive word.

Treatments didn’t work.  At least what we could afford. IVF was too $$ for the risk of it not working at my age.  I got a 2nd opinion and was advised my eggs would probably not work.  So we went on the embryo donor waiting list.  A month before my 42nd birthday I decided to get tested one last time. If my #’s were good, we were willingly to try again.  4 days after my test, I fell and shattered my knee cap.  Then I got the call that my #’s were better than ever. FML.  Ahhh the irony.  As I healed over the months, my husband started talking about the whens and ifs of having a baby.  Crazy man- I’m barely walking on my own! A pregnant girl with a cane??? What a sight that would be. I guess he wanted me to have something to hope for. All it did was break my heart.  He wanted a child and I couldn’t give him one.  Failing, yet again.  During this time I have watched several people who swore up and down they never wanted kids- would never have kids- they couldn’t be tied down like that, have them.  Not fair.  Then my husband got sick- seriously sick. He had to have major abdominal surgery to take a mass off his pancreas.  Thankfully, it wasn’t cancer.  Fate doesn’t hate us completely. Or maybe it does because the dr’s still don’t know what is wrong. He still feels horrible and more tests are coming.  We are so in debt medically, we could pay for 4 adoptions or 6 IVF cycles at this point.  So even if my #’s were great and we had a 100% guarantee, there isn’t a chance in hell that we could  afford what would be necessary to have a child.  Again, failing.  And that’s all I feel every day.  Broken, failing, incomplete, unworthy because what my body should do, what seems to be so simple for so many (that don’t even want it) I can’t do.

So I hate Mother’s Day more than any other holiday ever.  Not only do I miss my mom, I know I will never be one.  And that is the hardest, most painful truth to overcome.