Crowded Cemetery

Today is Mother's Day. Throughout the years, this day has become increasingly:

Celebratory, as the number of mothers in my life has grown

Busy, for the reason stated above

Meaningful, as I became a mother myself

Now, I can add:

Heartbreaking, as one of my children is absent from this world

Complicated, because it is still celebratory, busy, and meaningful, as I remain a mother to a living child, a daughter, granddaughter, aunt, friend, etc.

This year (today), it has been all of the above, except busy. My own mother is currently on the other side of the world without a phone (and I am SO glad that she is experiencing a long-held dream). The other reason today has not been busy is because it is heartbreaking. For that reason, I knew seeing happy families with their cute kids would not be a good thing for me, so we opted to stay home most of the day.

Throughout the day, I have received thoughtful messages from friends and family, and even flowers on my doorstep. I am so grateful that my loved ones acknowledge the fact that Mother's Day is, and will remain, incredibly complicated for me.

Mother's Day among the living was delightful, with parts of it pretty typical: breakfast and dinner on our back patio, the first swim of the season in our pool (not including swimming lessons), a few hours to myself, homemade caramel popcorn, a homemade card from my daughter, a thoughtful gift from Shannon, etc.

The atypical-for-me-until-now part of the day was my visit to the cemetery. We had Weston cremated, but a local cemetery has an Angel of Hope, which is a place for people who have been affected by the loss of a child. There are hundreds of plaques with the names and birth/death dates of children (and adults) gone too soon, before their parents.

On the way to the cemetery, I called my grandma to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. She is observing her fortieth Mother's Day without one of her children on earth, and she was the perfect person to talk and cry to. She told me a story I had never heard before, about a woman she met in the cemetery years ago who had also lost a son about the same age and at the same time. They crossed paths years later, and their respective emotional health was vastly different. The story was both cautionary and inspirational. I am so grateful to have my grandparents in my life.

The cemetery was packed. I don't know why I was surprised (after all, I knew today would bring me, a bereaved mother, a lot of pain). I am incredibly fortunate that my mother is in good health, but many families were visiting their mothers, wives, grandmothers, etc. at the cemetery.

The Angel of Hope tradition is to leave a white flower in memory of your child. I added my white flower to the largest pile of flowers I have ever seen at a cemetery and took a seat. There was one other mom there. We sat in opposite corners of the Angel of Hope area: she, I learned later, near her son's plaque, and I in the only other shaded part. I'm sure it was a sad and interesting sight: two women, curled up and sobbing in opposite corners.

This was my time with Weston today. And boy, did I let it out. It was much more therapeutic than my trip to the park the other night. It is so much easier to cry when you don't have to worry about thugs!

As I sat, I saw many groups of people walking by: a man with four school-aged children, a couple with one child, a man with a school-aged daughter. I heard him tell her as they climbed into their car to leave, "I know she would be proud of you. She IS proud of you." More heartbreak.

THIS IS MOTHER'S DAY REALITY for so many people. Until now, all the Hallmark holidays have been perfectly comfortable for me. I have been married for almost a decade, so it's been easy to forget the Valentines' Days spent alone. My mother is alive, and we have always had a good relationship, so Mother's Day has been fun and uncomplicated. Et cetera.

As I was leaving the cemetery, I went to tell the other woman I was sorry she had to be there today. We ended up talking for a while and have similar stories: she has a premature son, born at 28 weeks, who lived nine days. He died in March, and her due date is this week. As they say in our circle, friends become strangers and strangers become friends.

So I made it through my first Mother's Day without Weston. My grandma has walked this road far longer than I (and has lost far more loved ones than I). She always mentions the many blessings we have in our lives and how fortunate we are to have each other as family. I know she believes this with all her heart. I don't feel so fortunate right now, but I hope I turn out like her.

On Mother's Day I can think of no mother more deserving than a mother that had to give one back.
~Erma Bombeck