Mother's Day

I've never really thought much about Mother's Day. Sure, we get together and celebrate our moms by buying them trinkets, taking them out for brunch and writing them sentimental cards. But what about women like me? What about those who are mothers in one sense, but for whom the day is not a happy one, but a painful reminder of losses, not gains?

This was my first Mother's Day as a mother and yet it was not what I had imagined it to be. A few people wished me a happy Mother's Day, but others either forgot or didn't know how to breach the subject. Both are acceptable because it wasn't really something I wanted to be reminded of. In fact, I didn't want to be out on Sunday at all. I didn't want any well-intending waitress to ask if I had children. I mean, what do I say to that? Do I tell a feelings-sparing white lie and say no? Do I say, "none living"? I'm not sure. Part of me wants to go with the second response, not to make others feel bad or embarrass them (because, really, it's not their fault). I guess it's more because 1) I don't want to ignore the fact that I did have children - either for my sake or for theirs - and 2) it would bring more attention to this taboo issue of miscarriage and preterm births. But it's hard to get the words out sometimes and it's even harder to see that person stammer and apologize for something they had no fault in.

So on this Mother's Day weekend, we decided to say our final farewells to our triplets. We had waited longer than intended, but my body and our schedules had simply not permitted us a trip out of town... and it wasn't something either of us were looking forward to doing. We decided early on that we didn't want the remains to stay in our home. It's not that we didn't want to hold on to our children or to preserve their memories; we just didn't want to do it in that way. In some ways, it was too painful for me to have the shadow of their bodies in our home. But now that it's gone, there is a part of me that mourns it. I can understand the desire for people to hold on to their loved ones, even in death. Even when we know that there is nothing of that person left within that body. There is a part of me that craves their closeness and holding on to that hideous blue box with the cheesy white dove on it fulfilled that to some extent. But I do not regret our decision. I prefer knowing that our children's spirits are free and their bodies are back within the cycle of life and nature. That their DNA is disbursing amongst the plants and animals of this world and, in that little way, they live on. For me, that is better than having their remains with us or buried within the earth.

On Sunday, while my husband spent some time with his family, I took one of our dogs, Bones, and headed up to the hills. We didn't do much walking due to my back problems, but we drove around and did make a few stops to wander about. Bones thoroughly enjoyed himself and it was refreshing to be away from home and people who knew our situation. No one asked me how I was doing. No one wished me a happy Mother's Day. It was just Bones, me, and the winding road. I know Brian was sad not to be with me, but sometimes it's better to be alone... just for a time. And I knew he was waiting for me when I was ready to go back home.

And so I made it through my first Mother's Day, less than three months out from our children's first and last breaths. At the beginning of the year, there was a good possibility the babies would be born and we would be spending our Mother's Day in the NICU. Little did we know. In some ways, it all seems a lifetime ago or like a dream that only felt real. But we made it through the toughest part. Now, we are slowly putting February behind us, one moment at a time... Mother's Day included.