Mother’s Day–Take 2

While I stand by the sentiment of my first Mother’s Day post, I have to admit that today was full of emotional land mines.

The neighbor who I barely know who wanted to hug me…  the Facebook posts…. the TV shows…

And the acquaintance who I ran into at the grocery store.  We had known each other when our girls were in elementary school; we met at church, both of us attempting to ground our kids in some sort of spiritual truth.  We had even spent Christmas Eve together one year, but we never really reached that “friend” level.  And she had not heard of Molly’s death.

“How’s Molly?”   There is no easy answer, but in this case I attempted to mutter a non-answer and ask about her daughter.  No go.  She asked again.   “How’s Molly?”   So, I had to answer with the truth, and I was tearing up, and the acquaintance was embarrassed.  And we there we were in the frozen foods. 

She did no wrong by asking about Molly.  No wrong at all.  But after two years, I am not expecting the question, so it caught me off guard.  On Mother’s Day.   And it is very, very sad.  And I think I’ll protect myself a bit and stay home for the rest of the day.   

Mother’s Day

Not my favorite day of the year, this one.  As the mother of a child who has died, the day rings in a bit off key for me.

 

 

I am fortunate that my own mother taught me early that Mother’s Day is a mixed up holiday.   The cards and the meals and the flowers  were, to her, a money making conspiracy of sorts.   The sentiment of the day was backwards: it was she was grateful to us (her children) on Mother’s Day and  she didn’t want, need or expect gifts from us. 

 

 

So, I remember some strained holiday brunches at the dining room table with my grandmothers who received potted plants, but Mother’s Day was always a bit of a non-event when I was growing up.

 

 

With Molly, we had fun Mother’s Days…. going roller blading for the first time, spending a long weekend in Florida, attempting rock climbing.  The emphasis was on celebrating ourselves as a family.

I continue to believe in our family.   I am a mother, and Molly is our daughter.  I miss her body… her voice… her sense of humor.  Terribly.   But I am proud and beyond grateful to be her mother.  Always.  And today, that is what I celebrate.    

Weddings

This past week was dedicated to the Royal Wedding.  My mom and my sister travelled here from Chicago and New York respectively and I hosted a three day event – which nearly as I can tell is 2 days longer than the royals themselves celebrated.   

The weekend was a nod to the past: I remember Mom waking my sister and me up to watch Princess Anne’s wedding on the old black and white TV in the early 1970s.  For the occasion, Mom made crumpets using cleaned out tuna cans as a mold.  We had quite the British morning and as food and entertainment at our house went, the whole event was a triumph that is remembered to this day.

As I was getting up at 4 AM to make the tea and watch William and Kate and all of the falderal, I missed Molly, of course.  I couldn’t help but wish that she was there to add the depth of another generation to the experience of this royal wedding.  

And yet, I know that I have to consciously step away from over-emphasizing Molly’s death.   While her death may in many ways be the defining experience of my life,  she would most likely not be living at home,  even if she were alive.  The wedding may not have been on her radar screen.  She would have been busy with school or a job or whatever 19 year olds are doing these days. 

So the challenge is to let the past be the past.   The past does not have a fast forward button; there is no way to count on or measure “what might have been.”    

William and Kate’s wedding was well observed at out house with tea and scones and lemon cake.  There was laughter and snarky commenting and a certain amount of vigorous conversation over which station we would commit to for the ceremony.

And Molly’s absence – while felt -  did not fill the room.  My sister, my mother and I filled the room and somehow, I know, Molly was present.

Trusting in Multiplication

I am at that point – financially and personally – where I have to trust that multiplication is true.

I am believing that life lived on a budget can be richer and more satisfying than life lived with a regular and exceedingly ample pay check.

I am figuring that I might even lose a few pounds if I eat out less than I used to and reacquaint myself with my collection of pots and pans.

I am finding that interacting with a wide variety of people in a series of jobs is infinitely more satisfying than talking to the same people everyday over a cubicle wall.

I am discovering the wealth that is resale shops and consignment stores.  And I am finding that they are very crowded these days.

Don’t get me wrong:  there are things I miss about having plenty of money – things like having a Starbucks latte everyday, or not thinking twice about buying theater tickets, or having my hair professionally colored.   And I miss that I am not paying for college, or a wedding or grandmotherly things.

I never wanted money just to have it.  I want to live with less.  I know that my life will be richer as a result.  But I am stepping out here with a bit of faith that Effort multiplied by Passion =  Life.

Sadness, Depression and Loss

I am in a foot race with depression this week – and most of the time,  depression is winning.

Part of it is this Easter holiday.  It is full of wonderful stories of rebirth and everlasting life and all of that, but I will be spending it alone.  No Molly because she is dead.  No Frances because she is working.  Yes, I will attend a church service – but I will be alone in the crowd there as well.  Family not available; friends otherwise engaged.  Alone.

Part of it is spring break.  Without the daily routine of substitute teaching, DESPITE the fact that I have plenty to do, alien voices emerge: the voices that suggest that I was a terrible mother to Molly; the voices that question whether any of my current endeavors are worthwhile; the voices testifying that no body likes me.

And part of it is the weather which is bleak and has been bleak seemingly forever.

I took pains to avoid this – scheduling lunches with friends, attending school lectures, generally keeping myself busy during this break.  But in the pause, in the  cracks of time that I could not fill and the slivers of energy that were not spoken for, the sadness and the loss rage behind me – and then catch up to me -  with ferocious force. 

Sadly, I think this is normal – perhaps even necessary for now.

Next weekend, the house will be full of guests and frivolity and fun to watch William and Kate’s wedding.  I will look forward to that.

The Answers

One of my blog posts, The Questions,  gets a lot of traffic.  It’s about the questions that I live with as a result of the death of my daughter; I wrote it on February 18th if you are inclined to look it up.

Yes.  As the mother of a teenaged girl who died by suicide, I am definitely living with questions.

But I am living with some answers too.   Like, “I can handle the worst that life will send to me.”  Before Molly’s death, I would have thought that losing her would be the end of me, and in some ways I guess it was.   I am not the same person I was before Molly died. But I am here.  And I am living.   And I am moving on because I have to.  Life cannot hand me anything that will defeat me.

I also know that my friends and family are there for me.  No need to question that one for a second.   People are good.   We have been loved beyond our wildest imaginings through these last two years; we treasure that gift and seek to reciprocate it as well.

I am not alone.   Living through the death of a child – even the suicide of a child – does not put me in an exclusive club.  There are many of us – lots of good people -  who are living this experience.   I am grateful to every single person who has reached out to me with their story of pain and loss; every story has strengthened me.

God is real.  I don’t have a creed to pull out or a testimony to share.  I know that religion causes lots of problems.  But Molly’s death has brought me face to face with all of the uncertainties that exist beyond the very breath that we are taking at this moment. 

And having stared those uncertainties down I am left with a confidence that life is greater than what we can know, that death does not separate us – ever -  and that God lives within our attempts to love each other.

I know. I know.  It sounds like a Barney song or something.   But it’s enough for me. 

Paris

I am going to Paris as part of my graduate program.  Have I mentioned that yet?   It’s a ten day trip this summer and I am really looking forward to it.

The only problem with this whole experience is that I am old.   Looking at my fellow students,  I am old enough to be the mother of virtually every single one of them. 

We had our first “meeting” today – mostly to fill out paperwork absolving the school of all responsibility in the event that this adventure includes our death or other unforeseen catastrophe.  During a break in the paper signing,  the professor valiantly asked what we were most looking forward to.   “Eating” said one fellow traveller.  “Shopping” said another.

I am jealous of these younger students. This trip is simply fun and exciting for them at a point in their life when fun and excitement is exactly what they should be looking forward to. 

Do I even tell them?  Do I talk about the fact my daughter would be their age if she had lived?  And that this trip, for me, is part of my journey to figure out who I am without her? 

Do I mention that Frances and I have been together for 27 years and that I have never taken a trip without a family member?   Would it encourage this younger group to know that as independent as I may seem to them, they are in many ways more independent than I?

Do I  share with them that the primary reason I am taking this trip is that I have something to prove to myself about life after death?

Or should I just come up with a cute response about what I am most looking forward to?  Something like “the wine will be good and the sights oh so memorable.”