During a call with my psychiatrist, she asked how I was feeling about Mother’s Day. I told her about a call I had had with my mother where I had asked her if we could just skip Mother’s Day this year. My mother’s response was an emphatic, “No!”. To be fair, my mother deserves all of the honor and recognition we can give her. I won the jackpot when it comes to mothers and that has never been more evident than in this last year. But I’ll get back to that. My psychiatrist went on to suggest that I come up with a plan for how to approach the day. This seems logical of course, but all I have been able to see is yet another emotional landmine on a pock-filled calendar. So far my track record with avoiding them has been poor. I spent Thanksgiving in and out of my cousin’s bathroom in tears. Once gifts were opened, and I had feigned excitement for Jackson, I spent the rest of Christmas in bed. I tried to deny New Year’s existence and did fairly well until emotions ran too high resulting in a rare fight with Miguel. On my birthday I drank entirely too much and paid for it dearly the next day. 

With each tactical option failing, I realize now there is no avoiding these landmines. There is no armor that can protect me from the cutting grief. The landmine will detonate, it will be painful, but I also know that I will survive. Perhaps it is time to face the day head on. I can give myself the space to grieve, as many times throughout the day as necessary, but that doesn’t mean I have to deprive myself of the joy of the day either. After all, who is better at multi-tasking than mothers? I’ll survive the day, because it is just that, one day and I’ve survived much worse. 

But it would be naive to enter battle without at least some protection. Instead of avoidance and denial, this time I choose gratitude. There is the most obvious source: for all the pain and trauma that came with being Adelaide’s mother, the lessons she taught, the happiness and love felt, all far overpower the negative. I would not be the woman I am today without having been Adelaide’s mother. That doesn’t justify the difficult path she walked. Nothing will, and I have to let go of any hope of reconciling the meaning of her pain. But I can still be grateful for the way she shaped me. 

I can also be grateful for the incredible mother to which I was born as well as the mother I acquired through marriage. Miguel and I have not lived near immediate family at any point during our time together. We leaned on cousins and close friends, but there is little replacement for having your mom. It is not lost on me how fortunate we are to have our mothers in our lives and that they are both willing and able to travel to be with us when we need them. Last September, on a Wednesday when Miguel was at the theater, Adelaide stopped breathing and I had to make the decision whether to intervene. We had just transitioned to hospice and I wasn’t yet mentally prepared to say goodbye. With the help of our home nurse, Adelaide was placed on her bi-pap/ventilator and we bought ourselves another month with her. That afternoon I called my mother in tears and she was on a plane to us the next day. She lived with us, on a pull-out couch in our basement, for SIX WEEKS. For the month until Adelaide died and two weeks after, she prepared meals, cleaned, and took care of my family so that I could be with Adelaide and grieve. Then she handed the baton to my mother-in-law who stepped in for the next two weeks and made sure we were functioning at a basic level before letting us find our own way. I will never forget their sacrifice of our most precious commodity: time. Or their unconditional love and compassion.

So, I will face the next landmine. It will detonate and it will hurt, regardless of whether or not I want to acknowledge it’s existence. But this time I will multitask like a mother, holding my conflicting emotions in tandem, and finding resolve behind a kevlar vest of gratitude. Happy Mother’s Day to all, and to those who struggle on this day, let the tears flow, feel the pain but don’t forget to feel the love and gratitude also. I’m with you.