Mother's Day

Today is Mother's day. My first one as a widowed parent. Thus far, my children have not acknowledged it. And you know what?

That's OK.

It isn't their fault there father isn't here to remind them to wish me a "Happy Mother's Day." Or to help them secretly prepare some craft for me or go shopping for me. And I am certainly not going to make them feel guilty for not realizing what today is. They are little boys.

My friends tried to help by taking them shopping and reminding them yesterday to give me the gifts they both bought and things they made at school. Those things remain hidden in their rooms somewhere while my children run through the house in their Halloween costumes, giggling with the dog on their heels. Honestly, the gifts and the attention are not important. And while I know my friends and family have their hearts in the right place by trying to help the boys celebrate me, it still stings a little. It is yet another reminder that their father is not here and while yes, things like this were once his responsibility, they no longer are. And they certainly aren't anyone else's. This is our life now. I tried to explain this to some of them, but the truth is, none of them will ever really understand. And that is a good thing. A friend tried to gently remind me that the first year is really hard and they are just trying to help me have something to smile about. Yes, the first year IS really hard. But what happens after that first year? He doesn't magically come back. My life doesn't suddenly take a completely different turn. It will always be hard. Every first. Every second and third and so on. Each year. None of this pain ever goes away. We learn to live with it and not let it dictate every second of our days, but it's still there.

There was a time when I was really scared this motherhood gig wasn't going to happen for me. Bill and I had some struggles conceiving in the beginning and even after we welcomed Blake, we still had two devastating losses. Now there are three of them and I am so very grateful, no matter how mad they make me sometimes. No matter how many times I get interrupted in the shower, I am grateful. No matter how many butts I have to wipe, or meals I cook that get complained about, I am grateful. No matter how many times I tell them NOT to run through the house with their shoes on, or yell at them to stop touching each other, I am grateful. Usually the grateful feeling comes much later, after a glass of wine and some reflection, but it comes none the less.

And now they are all I have left of their father.

So yes, while none of them has wished me a "Happy Mother's Day," and while all they argued and complained the entire time I drug them around the nursery to get flowers to plant, and I spent half the car ride yelling at them to stay in their seats and the other half yelling for them to stop throwing things at each other, this is still something to celebrate. Even though I've said, "For fuck's sake," more times today than I am proud to admit, I am so glad that I have these reasons to say that.

What if they would have never been?

And then I would be here all alone, without any reminder of Bill except my memories. I cannot even fathom what that would be like.