Today was mother's day. This would have been my second mother's day, and although it was once just another day for me that didn't mean much to me, it now serves as a reminder of all the things I missed out on. No one recognises me as a mother, except for those who have also lost a child/children. In fact, someone told me today that I'm not a mother. Since I lost the twins, I've aways considered that I am, indeed a mother. So, what exactly is a mother?
Is it someone who simply gives birth to a screaming crying baby? Is it someone who changes the nappies of a baby, who acts in the role of a guardian to that child? Is it someone who is there to tuck the child in to sleep at night, and get them ready for school in the morning? Is it someone who is there to watch the child grow and provide guidance to him or her as they approach new situations and tasks? Who is there to put food on the table, and wash clothes, take the children to soccer/ballet/dancing/footy/music classes etc etc etc?
Well, the answer is yes to all of those questions. But what about the woman who gives birth to a baby who never gets the chance to scream or cry? And what about the woman whose child (regardless of age) is taken from them too early, or the woman who never even got past the point at which mainstream society would consider a baby, an actual baby. As there is much debate on when a baby is considered to be an actual baby, perhaps an easier question is... at what point does a woman become a mother?
According to the
Free Online Dictionary, a mother can mean:
a. A female person who is pregnant with or gives birth to a child.
b. A female person whose egg unites with a sperm, resulting in the conception of a child.
c. A woman who adopts a child.
d. A woman who raises a child.
Well, I certainly was pregnant - I have the ultrasound photos to prove it... this means that a child (or in my case, children) was conceived. The remains of which are buried under a tree at my parents house. So in actual fact, if this definition is true, then I am in fact a mother, just not in the traditional sense.
If things had been different, my twins would be 18 months now. Sure, I didn't have dirty nappies to change, and my life would most certainly be far different now if they were here. I certainly don't think for a minute that I deserve to be spoilt like all the other mothers on mothers day. In some ways, I haven't done the hard yards - I haven't changed dirty nappies, suffered from sleep deprivation, nor had to go without for the sake of my children. Yet, in other ways, I've done harder yards than many would care or want to imagine.
I don't ask for, or expect to be spoilt. All I expect is acknowledgment. Acknowledgment of what I had and what I have lost... acknowledgment of how things almost were, acknowledgment of the pain that still exists. I bet if my babies had died after birth, be it straight after or 20 years after, no one would dare say that I was not a mother... so how is this different? At least one of my babies had a heartbeat. I saw it beating on the screen... 162 beats per minute in fact... my baby's heart stopped beating, just like anyone else's child's heart that stopped beating. All grief is different, and we all have different circumstances and I would never say that my grief is worse than someone else's. The difference is that I don't have the photos to look at except for my ultrasounds, and I don't have memories to look back on, except for those few joyful moments in my pregnancy.
A very dear friend of mine posted a link on facebook today to a really interesting article on the origin of Mothers Day. The link is
here. In particular, it stated,
"It was amazing to me how grief and death work so hard to erase mothers like me. All the other moms are getting flowers at some public or religious event, but the childless moms are ignored. The physically present children are celebrated while everyone desperately tries to avoid eye contact with the bereaved mothers for fear they might want their children’s names said, too. Grief is treated as pathological instead of as a normal response to overwhelming loss."
and.. "the writing of
Julia Ward Howe, first published in 1870 as a protest against the carnage and violence of the Civil War. This was a protest led by women whose sons had died! Bereaved mothers started this tradition of Mothers Day! In the beginning, this was a day of protest, an expression of horrified grief from bereaved mothers who were parted from their sons!!"...
and... "Mothers Day came as an answer to Julia’s proclamation. It started as a ceremony of bereavement and then as a movement for peace and action to stop the senseless deaths of children everywhere. Our society can commercialize all they want. Because in my heart of hearts I know the real meaning of this day came from pain, loss, and grief — the same things I am prone to feel on any given Mothers Day. And from now on, when people urge me to celebrate the day, I tell them this: I’ll celebrate with you if you will first mourn with me. It is the combination of the two that lends itself to the true meaning of Mothers Day!"
I am grieving, I feel pain, I have suffered a loss and I feel these feelings on Mothers Day. I'm so glad that I read this article. I know that the person who told me that I wasn't a mother didn't intend to be harsh, upset me or cause offense - how could they possibly know or understand how this feels? I certainly never did before the 5 June 2008 either, and I honestly hope that they never truly find out.
In this case, ignorance truly is bliss...
Happy Mothers Day to all the mothers out there, whether your children live with you on Earth, or not.
xo
