Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Speechless

Let's see: How many days has it been? 20? Yes, 20 days since my last post. I have wanted to say something every single day since then. I have started and stopped at least five times.

On Mother's Day, or Mothering Day as they say in the UK, I spent more time than I'd like to admit feeling sorry for myself. For some inexplicable reason, I felt utterly depressed. And, trust me, I know DEPRESSION.

My dear, sweet daughter and husband fixed me breakfast in bed. She sat next to me with her very own tray of food while daddy lay at our feet, and we all enjoyed the Mother's Day special on TV.

They took me shopping, bought me shoes, fed me cake balls. In short, their behavior was above reproach.

So, what the heck was wrong with me?

Here is what was on my mind: I am not a "real" mother. Other moms have houses full of screaming children. Other moms get up at the break of day and never get a moment to themselves. The mom on TV that morning was a military wife, cancer survivor, mother of four.

I just can't compete with that.

So, I wasted a perfectly wonderful Mother's Day feeling sorry for myself.

Now, perhaps you will understand how godawfully selfish and self-centered I felt when I spoke to my friend Sara that evening, and she informed me that her 15-month old daughter had just died.

On Mother's Day, her baby died while I sat in my living room surrounded by two people who love me dearly and tried the best they could to make me feel special.
Lucy at her brother Max's birthday party last summer.

So, for 20 days, I have ruminated on what to say, waking and sleeping, morning and evening. I have racked my brain to try to come up with a proper memorial for an innocent 15-month old baby girl...

whom I held when she was only three days old...

visited in the hospital when she got sick....

threw a baby shower for her mommy before I ever even met her...

just attended her first birthday party in February where she got to stuff her chubby, little cheeks with cake for the first time, and she decided she didn't want vanilla, she wanted chocolate like a true little lady.

This evening, I saw this quote on Pinterest by Anne Lamott
You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should've behaved better.
and, it hit me, I need to behave better myself. I can best honor Lucy and her mom by ending my quest to say the perfect thing about her without revealing how inconsiderate I am and just say what's been on my mind -

That I am a selfish asshole.

That I am an incredibly lucky, selfish asshole.

That I am grateful to be the mother of one child, and that does make me a "real" mom.

That being a mom is more than giving birth to a biological child and raising him or her until he or she reaches the age of 18.

That being a mom isn't about how many kids you have, how much sleep you get, or how little makeup you do or do not have on. 

Being a mom is a spiritual and emotional state-of-being in which you feel the joys of laughing schoolchildren; in which you suffer the hunger of starving children in your and in other countries; in which you can simply glance at another mother's face or hear the pain in her voice and feel her grief cut to the very core of you.

Being a mother can strike you speechless.


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If you are so inclined, you could make a donation to one of these organizations that help children like Lucy:



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