I remember my first Mother’s Day in 2017 after my son passed.
I wore a Lily Pulitzer shift with it’s distinctive pink and green florals on a white background. I bought that dress on the last visit I had with my son in July 2016. I selected that dress to wear on that first Mother’s Day in the hopes that the cheerful, bright colors would make my heart rise to the hype of the day. The most intrusive thought I had in ny head was what’s so happy about it, dammit.
Two of my remaining three children spent the day with me. The third facetimed me for a visit.
I remember taking a photo of the sky that day. The sky was a beautiful color of blue and was unmarked by a single cloud. I remember the striking contrast of the blue sky with the most lush color green of the trees.
We spent the day in our little courtyard. To the casual observer the day was perfection.
However, the chaos inside my head was making the most horrible racket. The perfection of the day with my other children was interrupted all day long with thoughts of my son who was no longer here. I felt as if I were an actor in my own life. It was as if I were playing the role of a happy mom, when the reality of my own authentic life was of a bereaved mom.
I made it through that day and two more Mother’s Days since then. Yesterday, we were puttering in that same courtyard. I was reminded of that first Mother’s Day in 2017 and realised how far I had come. I have reached a point of healing where I can think of my son with warm memories and without the choking feeling in my throat that once left me gasping for air.
I have received many signs and affirmations since that time that have let me know that my son’s soul has merely stepped out of his body like a worn out suit. He is in heaven moving around and living in a new body there. He is happy and is waiting for the rest of his family to arrive when it is time for us to step out of our bodies for the next phase of our life. There is merely a thin veil between here and there. I feel it as a sheer curtain, gauzy and fluttering, teasing me with the possibilty that my son is walking beside me in the reality of heaven.
He is giving me signs that make me feel peaceful and patient amid the grief.
For those of you experiencing your first Mother’s Day as a bereaved mom, your only goal for today is to make it to bedtime tonight. Surround yourself with people who are gentle with your heart. If you need to be an actor portraying a regular happy mom in order to get to bedtime, I think it is okay to act like one if that is what you need to make it through the day. Or if you cannot muster up the energy to do that, do what feels peaceful and gentle to you.
There is no handbook for this bereaved mom life we have been cannonballed into. There is only the encouragement from other bereaved moms who are a little ahead of you, who get it, and want to walk beside you.
Peace and love to each of you on Mother’s Day.
I won’t say Happy Mother’s Day. You are a mother who loves all of her children, but has a heart especially tender for the one who has gone before her.
She writes about life, death, grief, and recovery.
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