Knowing

Mothers Day

They said holidays would be hard. I believed them, but I didn't expect it for Mothers Day. I remembered how little interest Ryan had had in Mothers Day, how my celebrations had involved him little, if at all. I thought this day would not be about him this year either.  I was wrong. 

 I've thought of Ryan all day long. I've remembered how happy he was to participate in family celebrations, including this one. Except last year, when he refused to even go to Grandma's house. In hindsight it was a sign his depression was worsening. What might have been different if I had seen it that way then?

Jamie and I made crepes for breakfast, the ones Megan would have made if she was here. Sweet memories of my thoughtful girl. As I mixed the batter, pulled the berries from the freezer, I remembered last time I made them, for Ryan, a rare request. The movements of opening the package and the feeling of berries in my hands recall memory deeper than consciousness. Visceral, unbidden. The sense of his presence at the table, the warmth of his humor, the entity that was Ryan and isn't any more.

Today has been a day of knowing. Knowing motherhood, knowing loss, knowing my son will never sit at my table again. Today I love him fiercely as a mother loves, and today I know that mother-love wasn't enough.

It's hard work, knowing. I am exhausted. By mid-afternoon it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other, to move through space, to remain present for a conversation. Exhaustion deep in my being, expressed in my body and mind, shutting down. 

Today we honor mothers for the hard work of mothering, and today I know that not-mothering is the most tiring work of all.  

Comments

  1. hayleyMay 13, 2022 at 2:53 AM

    The constancy of it. I am sending you rest and respite energy, soft and soothing.

    ReplyDelete

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