Happy?? Mother's Day

In a few more days, what used to be one of the funnest holidays for me, is now one of the most horrifying holidays, for me. How do you accept being celebrated, when you feel like the worlds worst mother?

2 years ago, I was a very different person. In a nutshell, I was happy, and hopeful. 2 years ago, I had 3 beautiful children, and one more on the way. 2 years ago, we were discussing and deciding if we would continue to have children, after this little bun was delivered. I was pretty confident, and I felt like I was in a beautiful spot in life. I had lots of great friends, an amazing husband, 3 beautiful children, and we were, finally, getting it right. 1 year ago, I had my bun. I had a little girl, Eleanor Beverly. 1 year ago, I changed forever. 1 year ago, my daughter died, and I don't know why. Today, I am not as hopeful, and naive, as I used to be. Today, I am fearful of doing something, unforeseen, wrong, and hurting another one of my gifts from God. Today, I have no confidence in myself, at all. But I can act like it pretty darn well. Today, I have lost my pep.

I wish, every day, that I could turn back time, and have 1 day, replay over and over again. The day before I went to the hospital, and found out I had lost my little girl. That day, I was looking forward to a "surprise" baby shower, I already knew about (sorry mom!). I was looking forward to taking my sister-in-law shopping, to help her with her registry, and teach her everything I had learned, about every baby item that could be placed in a Baby's R Us. I was completely stressed, but excited, about putting together the baby's room. The day before, I had my doctors appointment, and everything looked amazing, and it was just another week away, before I could meet my second girl. I remember, sitting in my recliner, big, hurting and having a hard time breathing, watching my husband wrestle with my other children, and day dreaming about Ellie, romping her way in there at 9 months old, and trying to wrestle like the big kids. I never imagined that my daughter was already dead, inside of me. I never knew. I feel terrible guilt, for not knowing that. I feel terrible guilt, still, for not noticing her lack of movement, or the lightness of the movements.

I want that day back, so badly. Instead, I replay, in my mind, over and over again, the day I lost her. Taking my sister in law shopping, going to my baby shower, noticing at my baby shower, that she hasn't been moving as much, but playing it off as the fact that she's getting bigger, and just can't as much. I imagine laying in the bed, as my husband was out buying the mattress for the crib he just put together, at 12:00a, that night, and me frantically trying to get her to move, by eating, pushing on my stomach, drinking everything under the sun. I replay the hospital visit, the faces of the nurses, as they tried to find her heart beat, and the blessing my brother in law and father in law gave me, just hours before I gave birth to my deceased daughter.

That whole night, as each step of the labor process would take place, I kept saying, "I can't do this. I'm not ready for this." Funny thing is, every step of this year, every milestone, every holiday, every family event, or good time we've had, I repeat that same statement, "I can't do this. I'm not ready for this."

As Mother's Day approaches, it's a difficult milestone. Again, how do I allow people to celebrate me? I feel as if I've failed my children. I don't feel like a good mom anymore. I don't feel like a good daughter of God anymore. I don't feel like a good wife anymore. I feel like I've let my whole family down, and that has caused the ultimate consequence. I know where my daughter would fit in, in my family. I know what she would be doing. I know she would be so fun to watch with Elliott, because he would've been her birthday present. I know her place, and she can't be here to take it.

The last few weeks, I have been more and more down. Wanting to spend more time at home, with my husband and my kids, and less time with any friends. In fact, I've wanted to shut my phone off. I've been battling myself lately. I want to be a hermit, and allow everyone to forget about me, however, I know that's not healthy, and I need to force myself out, and force myself to call people, and force myself to exist. But every night, I go walking, most times, with a friend, and sometimes alone. Those nights, when I am alone, are excruciating. I want to just keep walking. I can't though. I have to get back in the car, and drive home, and be a mom, and a wife. I can't give up on this fight, and yes, it is a fight. It is a fight to watch other families be happy, and listen to the wives complain about silly things their kids have done to each other, or about their husband's not upgrading their kitchens in a timely manner. It's a fight, to put yourself out there, time and time again, and be vulnerable and honest about your feelings, to have no response from the friends you're needing the most, and not be disappointed that they aren't there for you, again. It's a fight, to want to move away from this house, and this furniture, and this city, just to get away from it all, but know that it will kill you to leave "her", even though you know, it's not her, it's just her body. It's a fight, to watch your daughter cry, at night, because she is afraid no one will be there to protect her baby sister, and not cry yourself, because you can't make those thoughts in her mind go away, any more than you can make the thoughts in your own mind go away. Finally, it's a fight to maintain a testimony of a the Gospel of Jesus Christ, while trying to help young men and young women develop theirs.

So, this year, as was last, it's not a Happy Mother's Day. It's just another day. But, I know my husband and my children have planned things, to celebrate a woman who they feel is worthy of celebrating. I just wish I felt like I was her.