If I had been asked, before Noah died, which holiday I might predict to be the most difficult to get through, I might have picked his Birthday. Or maybe our favorite holiday, Thanksgiving. Or the anniversary of the day he died. Never, ever, ever would I have predicted that Mother’s Day would be the hardest.
I keep trying to sugar coat these words. I have started typing a thousand times in the last few days, trying to put a glossy sheen onto what I’m really thinking, what the Universe is nagging me into writing. I delete what I type, shut the lid on the computer, and distract myself with other things, shoving the feeling back into the Box labeled Don’t Think About That. But the feelings don’t go away. They keep building in my throat, the backs of my eyes, the permanent hole in my heart and soul where my boy’s spirit used to live. I keep trying to find a different reason for why this holiday is so difficult. I keep trying to find a strategy for making this holiday not so difficult, to gloss over it, to brush it off so I can hide behind the shield that I have built to hide behind when I need to face the truth. And the truth boils down to one question: Am I still a Mom?
For 18 glorious, amazing, difficult, heart filling and heartbreaking years, I was Noah’s Mom. Yes, I was other things–wife (and then thank the baby JESUS ex-wife), teacher, fundraiser, friend, and more. But my first, favorite, and foremost job title was Noah’s Mom.
And then he died. He got sick, and he got tired, and I had to make the most difficult decision I have ever and will ever have to make. And I had to figure out how life moves on and moves forward in the absence of doing my first, favorite and foremost job. And I shoved that question down deep, way deep, into the Don’t Think About That Box.
Because really. Who goes around asking that kind of question? How do you go about collecting data to get the correct answer? There’s no research out there. It isn’t an entry on the Wikipedia. People who love you will answer “YES, ya Dumbass. YES.” But here’s the problem. The head knows that is the correct answer. But the heart and soul? That’s a whole different ballgame.
My heart and my soul have Noah-shaped holes in them. They are empty, devoid of anything. They feel empty, and there is nothing that will fill them up. They are where all the things that made me a Mom used to live. I’ve learned that nothing will grow there, and that’s OK. I’ve learned that it doesn’t mean that I do not feel joy, it doesn’t mean that I do not feel love, or light, or full in the rest of my heart and soul. I can, and I do. But those holes exist, and I’ve accepted that.
My heart and my head do battle during this time approaching and on Mother’s Day when the question fights its way to the top of the Box. My head lists all the data-based reasons why I am still Noah’s Mom. And my heart and soul listen. But then they point to the holes and say “sorry, nope”. Over and over and over again. The memories bubble to the surface-the good ones, the ones where I can almost feel him in my arms again, almost feel the fullness in my heart and soul again, and the brain wins for a little bit. But then the heart and soul point to the emptiness and say “nope”. It’s a constant weight, this battle my brain, heart and soul wage during this time leading up to the Hardest Holiday. It’s a constant weight, and I’m tired of shoving the question back into the Box because it does no good.
I am Team Brain. Most of the time, I know and accept that I am still, have always been, and always will be Noah’s Mom. But during this time, this season of celebrating Mothers, the battle rages on. I have spent too long trying to interfere, to deny it’s happening, to send it back down to the bottom of the Box and slam the lid shut. I’ve learned it doesn’t work. I must accept that it’s OK to have two different answers to the same question sometimes. That it is OK to hold space for the battle, to lean into it. That, even though I know I am Noah’s mom, sometimes I don’t feel it and there is nothing I can do but breathe through it. Because maybe, over time, my brain will win and bring peace to my heart and soul.
