I want to enjoy these days. I want to laugh and play and love on this perfect little girl I get to raise. But every time, without fail, I wake up and I can’t go to church. And if I do go, I cry the whole time.
My first Mother’s Day after Austin died, we went to our church in California. They were giving out flowers to all the moms. They didn’t know to give me one, there was no baby in my arms. When we sat down, I was already a mess. They then asked all the Mother’s to stand. With tears streaming down my face, I did. I couldn’t not without it feeling like a betrayal of the son that had lived for just a couple of hours. I had to honor him. Honor the fact that he made me a mom. But ever since then, I can’t go to church. Not on this day.
So instead we woke up slowly. And even with Chantry bouncing up and down as she woke up and found her joy, even with her perfect beautiful face beaming up at me, it was still all complicated emotion. A mix of happiness and sadness and pain. Because even in all this love, there is a deep ache for the little boy that never came home. I miss him in May the most. When we are planning a first birthday for our little girl, and planning a day of remembrance for our little boy. Mother’s Day is just one more day that will always be complicated, and that’s just going to have to be ok.