Just Grief

I really thought I was fine. I hadn’t made any exceptional plans to avoid Mother’s Day this year. I truly don’t have a desire to have children anymore. Why would Mother’s Day bother me now? I really hadn’t thought much about it besides “What should we do for our sweet moms?” I was completely blindsided by the grief. I really couldn’t figure it out or explain it this year. I finally had to accept that it was just grief.

It was mild. No one else would have known besides me. And then Patrick. On Monday the week before Mother’s Day I just felt cranky. It increased throughout the week. I was confused and frustrated by it and kept blaming it on hormones. On Thursday a sweet friend sent me a beautiful article called “Spiritual Mothering: Every Woman’s Calling,” by Alice von Hildebrand. She says, “Motherhood is not only biological maternity. It is spiritual maternity.” It was really encouraging and validating. I do feel like a mother. I do see the ways I mother others every single day. I have felt so healed for such a long time.

But also on Thursday, the irritability was increasing, and I was becoming difficult to deal with at home. I was restless, indecisive, getting frustrated with others for not meeting my needs, and feeling very confused about my mood and irritability. Friday night it was escalating. I really struggled with feeling discontent, changed my mind several times about what I wanted to do that evening, couldn’t figure out what would help. By Saturday morning I felt foggy, the restlessness increased, and the crying started.

And I finally realized it was about Mother’s Day. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even know why it was about Mother’s Day. All I knew is that it just was. And that it was just grief. A dear therapist friend later said, “Sometimes I think the body remembers important dates to validate the loss.” Yes. I agree.

So I started trying to give myself permission to grieve, reminding myself that it was just grief, using the coping skills in my toolbox – journaling, Bible reading, prayer, talking about it, taking a walk, going boutique shopping with a special friend. I even decided to go to a film at the Bentonville Film Festival by myself, not something I would usually do – (but actually thoroughly enjoyed for future reference!)

Oh but the familiar battle of grief was there – trying to cope, but nothing satisfies. Trying to get away from it, but it stays there. Trying to think, but the fog takes over.

Trying to reassure yourself, but the battle ensues – the battle of the accusing messages that accompany grief – “You’re being really selfish.” “Why can’t you just focus on your own mom and blessing her?” “Why can’t you just be thankful for what God has done in your life?” “Why can’t you just get it together?” “Aren’t we over this by now?” “Are you ever going to be able to handle Mother’s Day?” “Mother’s Day is just like any other day of the year.” “You definitely can’t go to church and cry – people will think you’re focusing on yourself, not happy for other mothers, that you still want a baby.”

And of course, the overall feeling of shame. I think I really want the pride of – “Oh – I’m good now, over that, totally in control of myself now. Why would you even think this day would be hard for me? HaHa!” I don’t want to be writing about this. I want to be writing about the beauty of how all women are mothers and how much progress I’ve made. Oh the pride.

By Sunday morning, I was a total wreck and completely exhausted. Eventually my wonderful husband got me out and took my mom and I out for a nice lunch. By Sunday evening, I was feeling much better. I was really tired, but I knew that the battle was over. And in a strange way, I was thankful for the crash course reminder on the emotions and process of grief.

Because while sometimes it’s just grief. It’s not just grief. God created the grief process. It matters. It validates our losses. They matter. I still think it’s wonderful to have a day set aside to celebrate the beauty of motherhood. But anytime something is beautiful, there will be loss and brokenness around it. That’s the gospel. And it is deeply beautiful.

So I accepted that it was just grief. And I just grieved. And I’m extremely thankful it lasted only 6 days this time instead of 6 years.

“You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever.”

Psalm 30:11-12