A Motherless Mother's Day

In 2003, my maternal grandmother died suddenly. She was 89 years old. After her passing, my mother wanted nothing to do with Mother's Day. She didn't care about that day because, as she said, "Ya yo no tengo madre" I didn't understand her then and was even insulted that she no longer chose to celebrate that day, although she did return to allowing herself to celebrate it years before she passed. Through my own selfishness and lack of understanding, I failed to realize that my mother was grieving, especially on Mother's Day.

Fast forward to now, Mother's Day 2019. I am in the same state of mind. Like mother, like daughter. Granted I know I have 4 children that love me and hopefully celebrate me but I'm their mother. They don't see another woman above me. I'm it for them. The woman that came before me, my IT, was my mother. So when I think about this day of celebration for mothers, I can't help but to feel pained. And angry. And envious.

My mom helped me in so many ways. I've never been one to have many friends or circles because I felt I had no need for them. My peers didn't understand me the way my mother did. Not that she was 100% supportive of my "grouchy old lady tendencies," but she accepted me. My mom was a social person, she loved being around people, she loved having company over. I did not turn out like that. But she accepted me. I never felt that I needed to change because as unpopular as I tend to be to people, I actually like me. And she accepted that too. If there was one person that ever enjoyed my tales of grouchy antics, it was my mom.

I miss how my mom made me feel about myself and how it was okay to just be me. I can't feel that anymore. I always feel judged now. I hear rumors about me from other family members, it's like now it's okay to hate me. And I just feel so lost and broken. I hate getting up in the morning, getting dressed, just being. There's this one line in Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody that sums up how I feel since her death,

"Mama, 
I don't want to die
Sometimes wish I'd never been born at all"

I've tried so many things to help me move forward. But the pain of the loss is always there, a dull ache that intensifies given what I'm going through. The seven months after she died, I was drinking so much. Mind you, I am not a drinker. I'm a seltzer water or fruit punch type of gal. The alcohol, I thought would relax me, make me forget. Forget that I lost her, forget that I moved my whole life to Florida, forget that I was in this alone, forget that my siblings forgot me, that my father forgot me. I mean that's how people cope, through vices. But it just made it worse and if my mom could see me now! The disappointment of it all would have been too much for her. Her kid drinking herself silly knowing full well, "you don't drink!" Nope. No more drinking.

Then the freaking judgement that comes with grief. Are you people serious? I felt like I had a watch over my head and when whatever person decided that I was too, too, what? Moody? Emotional? Distant?  And my favorite...

Look. I know I have four kids. It's not something you can forget. IT'S FOUR KIDS!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm also a special needs mother so I'm on, 24/7. I don't have the luxury to take breaks, go out on date nights, go out for girls' night. I get up every morning for those kids and live everyday for them. But it's not like I can just go out and replace my mother. If you are truly an understanding person that cares about me and supports me, then shut up about "what about the children." Let me grieve my mom the way I want to grieve her. The kids are good. Trust me.

Rant over. I'm back.

Other ways that I tried to help with my grieving was my grief counseling group, the gym, and TMI people...stop while you still can... 

SEX. Yup. I'm sorry but I warned you. Are you vomiting in your mouth yet? Yes, I know. Poor Danny, right? (insert eye roll here)

And while some may call Benjamin an oops baby given my age and factory closure in 2010, Chloe's birth, he is indeed a grief baby. Sent from the Heavens above? Who knows?

That little face! Can't!

As my third motherless Mother's Day awaits me tomorrow, I'll try to keep it together. And if I can't, then that's okay too. Grieving is a personal journey. It can be ugly, raw, or beautiful. At this point it'll be whatever gets me through it enough to move forward and be able to think of the memories I shared with my mother with love instead of with sorrow.