No Breakfast, No Cards

Next Sunday, I will join moms across the country for Mother's Day.  Mostly because I love a good excuse to go out to eat and have Daniel say nice things to me.  But today, for the second year, I privately noted Bereaved Mother's Day.

I don't make a big deal out of it because A) I have no problem setting aside everyday to be  mom to Eleanor and wish she was here. And B) I think celebrating the daughter that made me a mom on Mother's Day suits me just fine.  Just because I hold her in my heart, not arms, does not make me less of a mom to her and she is not one fraction less than my child.

But I am glad for this day and glad for all the women out there who find comfort in this day for them, before the intensity of all who are wonderfully oblivious to empty arms begins to press down on them, to know they are special, important and loved.  Even if our children aren't here to write a down in a card.

Still Surprised and Angry

More than a year out from losing Eleanor, there will be at least one moment everyday where I am still caught of guard by the overwhelming surprise and disappointment that she isn't here.  Let me be clear, I think about her all the time, if my mind made noises or music, the drumbeat of everyday would be thoughts of her.

But at least once every 24 hours, something will happen and I will think, "I just can't believe she isn't here.  That she as supposed to be here right now and she isn't.  That she is never coming back."  And it's as surprising as it was that first day.

Usually, these moments will hit me while I am alone.  But recently, I was hanging out with a friend - baby Ed between us - chatting about friendly, unimportant things.  The the sudden and complete feeling of heartbreak overwhelmed me.  So I said so.  A mark of this friend is that she didn't miss a beat, didn't make a huge deal over it and did act like I was a weirdo.

"I just still can't believe she isn't here!" I said, apropos of nothing.  "I can't believe I have had two children in the last two years and only one is here."

"Me, neither," was her simple response.

Eleanor's First Birthday

It was a date that loomed on the calendar for months.  Eleanor's first birthday.  I knew I wanted to do something to celebrate and remember her but had no idea how to proceed.  I mean, what person on the planet wants to mark a their child's birthday like this?

Edison's healthy arrival just 8 days before helped to give me strength.  But recovering from surgery and a newborn limited what could be done.

In the end we settled on a balloon release.  Just family and held at her spot at Fairview Memorial Gardens.  It's hard for me to call it her grave - I avoid the term, along with cemetery, when I can.

The weather was ridiculously nice, as though the universe knew it was important to make the day as beautiful and happy as possible.  Dan's family went to her spot earlier in the morning, putting out a cheerful fresh flower arrangement, swapping out the more permanent, weather-sturdy, decorations that are usually there.

Every member of the family released a purple balloon.  Each balloon had a tag, handmade by two of my dear friends.  they wrote her name and birthday on each of the 20+ tags, then drew an elephant on the back of each.  I think back to just over one year ago, and wonder how I could have ever prepared them or myself for the idea that they would be helping plan Eleanor's first in such a strange and sad way.

We released Ed's balloon last.  Untied it from his carrier and set it free.  All the balloons were picked up by the wind quickly and carried high into the sky.

Maybe someone found one of the cards when they fell back to Earth and wondered who Eleanor was and understood from this small gesture that she must be really loved.  I hope so.