May 1st is International Bereaved Mother's Day
Don’t worry, lonely mama. There’s a day just for you.
If you’re a mother who has lost a child there's a day lovingly dedicated to you. And you get to experience it a week earlier than you’re used to.
Unfortunately, no mother on earth would brag about moving to the front of this line.
The first Sunday of every May is International Bereaved Mother’s Day. This year it falls on May 1st.
I didn’t know such an occasion existed until last year when it became my occasion. A friend sent me blessings and virtual hugs on my very first one.
I don’t think anyone knows about it unless they’ve become one of us.
The real Mother’s Day hits especially hard for those of us who only had one child. We will never again hear the words, “Happy Mother’s Day” from the only person we want to hear it from.
Sure, everyone else can say it but it doesn’t even come close.
Last year on the real Mother’s Day I became the crazy woman who had a full-blown meltdown in public and made every bystander feel awkward and uncomfortable.
I had gone to buy a dozen red roses for myself.
The flower lady made the mistake of asking if they were for my mother. I had to tell her the truth. The flowers were for me because it was my first Mother’s Day without my son.
My words sporadically spilled out in between hysterical sobs like a three-year-old in the middle of a tantrum. Hallelujah for pandemics and masks. No one could see the true unsightliness of my ugly cry.
In hindsight, I should have just lied and said they were for my mother.
We need to start celebrating “Otherhood”
Not long after Curtis died, I purchased the domain FormerlyMom.com. It was going to be a very sad blog indeed.
I sat on it for months before deciding not to use it. The more I thought about it the more it felt like an insult to the title I held for twenty-eight years, three months, and twenty-five days.
Curtis is still my son and he always will be.
(Plus, I didn’t want to risk getting haunted by an angry ghost-kid whose mother had forsaken him!)
All of our children remain our kids, no matter what form they currently exist in. We’ve got the stretch marks to prove it.
We still talk to them every day, we still go places together, and they’re still the first person who comes to mind when we think, “Remember that time…?”
So please, if you’re a lonely mama who has lost a child, take time to proudly celebrate yourself.
You’re still here holding it together.
You’re still (begrudgingly) marching forward.
You still say “my son” or “my daughter” in conversations about them.
You still say their name after everyone else has stopped.
The first Sunday of every May is Internation Bereaved Mother’s Day. Give yourself a well-deserved break today and pass this on to anyone else who needs to hear it.
We’re with you, with tons of love.
You might find a little smile in your back pocket while reading this piece I wrote about my very first Mother’s Day alone.
Nov.4,2020, my world stopped.
My youngest son,Garrett Michael, 24yrs old relinquished his life here on earth.
There is absolutely nothing to prepare a woman , for there is truly a physical pain and anguish at the loss of a child, but more, they take a real part of us with them.
He was, in every since of the word, a part of me.
For nine months our hearts beat as one. My life blood flowed to him. We shared a bond that NO ONE else ever would.
A large piece of myself died that day as well.
The crushing ache to my heart is more than one can bare most days.
Not sure how to move on...
I've been traveling out of the country with uncertain internet so am only now catching up. I have not (yet, and am sending up prayers I don't have to) experienced the loss of a child, and I can only offer deep love and gobsmacked admiration for every mother who has been so wounded, and who manages, at some point, to put one foot in front of the other. I find Mother's Day kind of a fraught occasion, as the daughter of a mother who had lost her own mother when she (my future mom) was only 8 years old — but the onslaught of imposed cheery sentiment has got to be exquisite torture for bereaved moms. Sending you love, chocolate, gin — whatever gets you through the day.