I push my teenage son back and forth in the swing. He laughs, he whimpers, the sun gently bathes his face. He has my nose, his dad’s eyes, his own unique genetic syndrome. I talk of his sister’s arrival home for a college break. He listens with hearing amplified through aids. He can’t see or speak. His faint smile tells me he’s content in this moment.
I, however, am using this moment to contemplate motherhood and the heart-wrenching complexity of it. Can a simple Mother’s Day card ever truly capture its anguish and joy? I think of my grieving friends, one whose son is again in the intensive care unit.
Another mother mourns the death of her child in a tragic accident. A friend who buried a daughter with complex medical issues a year ago, only to have her new baby diagnosed with the same condition. The many, many mothers for whom the joy is too fleeting, too tenuous.
We are mothers who share a bond built on heartache, sleepless nights, grief and despair. It’s a bond that adheres only so tight, understands only so much, before the reality of our truly unique journeys sets in.
We are forced to dig deep within our souls, to a place we never knew existed, and pull forth the strength and love and faith to continue moving forward. To do what we need to do. To be mothers we never imagined we’d have to be.
We can’t do it alone, but it can take great courage to seek help. Isolation breeds depression. If we are fortunate, we’re surrounded by family and friends. But tragedy unmoors people and sometimes they don’t know how to react. So we may need to ask, to initiate and make ourselves even more vulnerable. We need to let medical professionals, educators and therapists support us and to let others gently guide us on our new path, whether it be mourning the loss of a child who was or a child who should have been.
We see families that appear whole and unscathed and wonder “Why us?” And then, of course, “Why not us?” We may feel part of another world, a parallel universe, as we go through the motions of day-to-day living — as we’re learning to live again.
From our loss comes a deeper understanding of life, death, family and motherhood, as well as an incredible gratitude for the supportive relationships surrounding us. We appreciate the acknowledgment of our loss, the appreciation of our strength. But some days, we just want to be normal and blend in. To forget and live in the moment. We learn to see the good in what we have, and cherish the memories of what we had.
If we let ourselves be defined by our loss, we lose. Still, it becomes part of who we are. We may become advocates, finding meaning in helping others cope or by throwing ourselves into our work and lives. Being busy is a way to cope, to continue on. But there is an inescapable sorrow that never leaves us.
Healing takes community. My Mother’s Day card says “Thank you.” Thank you to all the compassionate people who chose a caring profession, who are part of the intricate tapestry of services available to mothers who grieve the death of a child and to mothers like me who grieve the loss of the child who should have been.
My card celebrates the joys of motherhood. As the sun bathes my son’s face, I am thankful for what is.
Healing takes time and every experience is unique. The void left by a mother’s loss is slowly filled by a quiet warmth and eventually by a joy always tinged with sadness. A greater appreciation for the warmth of the sun and the bonds of community. Bonds that link us all together and make us all stronger.
Happy Mother’s Day.
Karen Roberts is a mother of three in Denver.
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