Child lost motherhood

It was my intention to go home on Friday, lock the doors, close the blinds, and sleep until Mother’s Day passed.  Don’t tell me how unhealthy it is to isolate.  I already know that.  It doesn’t matter anyhow.  The universe had other plans.

As I walked to my car on Friday after a great lunch with my best friend, I saw the Green River Mile under my Mazda Tribute.  Not the movie.  The long green rolling river of antifreeze that started at my car’s radiator and ended at Prestone Lake.  My friend drove me to the Shell station where I stocked up on antifreeze, refilled the reservoir, and tentatively eased my car to the repair shop around the corner.  I had to depend on Bob for transportation.

That really isn’t a bad thing.  I am in love with Bob; he is the one of the most cheerful and supportive people I know.  But I didn’t want to be cheered or supported.  I longed to be left alone, to return like a wounded animal to her den.  I wanted to mourn.

This is the 3rd Mother’s Day since my son Jack died.  I hate the day and I feel bad that I hate the day.  I have so much to be grateful for and have so many people who love me and I don’t count that lightly.  But I didn’t want to feel grateful or to count blessings.  I yearned for the impossible.

In 2008, I became acquainted with a woman who lost her only child in 2004.  She was frozen in grief.  Most of our conversations started and ended in tears.  Her sorrow was a physical presence.  There were times when I thought, and thank heavens, didn’t say that she needed to move forward with her life, release some of the sadness.   January 15, 2009 has taught me that there’s no timeline on this grief.

I spent the week-end helping Bob clean house and do laundry, running errands with him.  I went to an AA meeting.  I said the Serenity Prayer about 1,000 times.  I told Bob that I didn’t want to spend Mother’s Day with anyone else’s children which was unkind but honest.  I have moments when I realize that saying yes when I don’t mean it can generate battery acid resentment. In the end, I got to spend about 20 minutes alone in my home before Bob came back from a store run.

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal. ~From a headstone in Ireland

I survived; but my throat felt strangled with choked back sobs, my chest was in an asthmatic grip, and my eyes were exhausted from blinking back tears.  Why do I think I need to do that?  Why can’t I just have a good cry and go on?  I felt like I had some kind of achy flu on Monday and blamed the grief, but it diffused over the day and I woke feeling normal on Tuesday.  My experience is that emotion comes out sideways if it isn’t released, but I didn’t succumb to road rage or ax murder.  Maybe it helped to just let it be and know that I have no more control over my stupid car’s cooling system than I do over the loss of my child.

But a little money and expertise will fix the car.  Being a child lost mother on Mother’s Day? There’s no fix for that.  Even time is just an aspirin.

About texasgaga

I am a mom, a grandmom (Gaga to my 2nd oldest grand-child), a sister, a friend, a construction estimator, a homeowner, an active member of a 12 step recovery group, an artist, a reader, a survivor, a do it yourself wannabe, a laugher
This entry was posted in Family, Grief, Relationships, Sober Life, Women's issues and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Child lost motherhood

  1. jessbrianne says:

    You are so extremely strong to have gone through something like that. I know nothing anyone says can ever make up for the loss of a child, but you have support, even from people who don’t know you. I’m sorry you’ve had to go through that, & I can’t imagine Mother’s Day will ever be the same again. I can’t speak from experience, though I have lost people in my life & I know you aren’t looking for advice! Cherish your memories with him & celebrate his life. I don’t know what you believe personally & it may be different than what I believe {which of course is wonderful!} but I think you will meet him again some day. Much love to you!

    • texasgaga says:

      Thank you so much for reaching out to a stranger with your words of encouragement. I know I didn’t ask for advice, but I’ve found strength and truth in your kind words. Much love back to you!

  2. Jennifer says:

    I am sorry you still hurt so much but am glad Bob was there for you. I thought of you but

    never really know what to say. I am not so sure anything I say would help. Your loss is one only a mother can understand. As women we learn to pull ourselves together and move on after a loss. we think our pain is not important. it is time to be kind to yourself and take care of yourself. Know that many love you and wish you well.

    • texasgaga says:

      You know better than I do how crazy grief emotion is and how it comes in waves at odd times. I have learned to take time for myself and use HALT to work with the sadness. I’ve used the steps of AA to work through the grief; it leaves me powerless and makes my life unmanageable. Thanks for your loving words and friendship.

  3. amourningmom says:

    I wish there was a fix – and that no one had to live in a world with out their child/children. My thoughts are with you. Take care.

    • texasgaga says:

      Me, too. Thank you for reaching out. You, too, are in my thoughts. I wish you didn’t have to write a blog about grief with the heart knowledge that makes it touch the hearts of other mothers, but I am glad that I have gotten to know you through that blog.

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