It’s Mothers Day in Australia, and it hurts so much I can hardly breath for the pressure on my chest.
Easter passed with barely a shudder- it’s only eggs, to me.
But today, the pain is real and sharp and cuts wicker-snicker through the fragile fabric of pretend peace I’ve made.
I miss my husband.
This morning, I missed him so much.. for a moment there, eyes closed and warm beneath my doona, listening to the clutter in the kitchen of my best mate making me breakfast…
I could have been back home.
Upstairs, in my wide bed, in my Purple House, curled into the sleepy warmth Tony left behind.
And the house would have gone quiet for ten minutes, a trip through drive thru for hotcakes and Coke (“At this time of the morning, babe…? Really?)
And, in the cold air of my bedroom this morning, I could hear him…
“Yay, go wake Mummy up!! Say ‘Happy Mother’s day!!’”
And we would have curled in bed, the four of us, and spilled syrup on the sheets and laughed at the Bump stuffing herself while the Chop bounced around the room. And he would have leaned over to me, and smiled “Aren’t they awesome, darl? Rock and roll. Happy Mother’s day.”
And the rest of the day would have been laughter and smiles and love and dinner, tonight, with his family, or mine.
Because Mother’s day was special, and he treated it with reverence. The same way he treated me, when it came to being the mother of children.
(Mother is the name for God on the hearts and lip of children.)
And it scares me, that this time next tear, I may not remember that quite so clearly. I may not be able to picture that scene, remember the feel of my bed once he’d left… hear his voice in my head.
Oh God. He’s my best friend, and he’s gone, and some days that just stabs me all over again, leaves that gaping whole of weeping pain in my chest.
The love of my life… and it’s almost he existed only in my imagination.
I’m not the only one, I know. There are thousands of us, women and men, in pain today, every day, but especially days like today.
And I think my pain may be minimal today. Compared to those mothers who are feeling the weight of empty arms, of babies that should be there. Hearing the silence of bedtime stories that don’t need to be read, because their little ones are gone.
Mothers, missing their children, in the same place I am- hell, alone with a pain that does nothing but corrode and eat at the softest part of their soul.
And, again, others, people missing their mothers… mine, I don’t know what I’d do without her. I remember how it felt, as a child, to curl in the warm softness of her lap and breath the scent of her.
Tony’s mother, how she must be hurting today. Missing her own mother. Missing her baby boy. My heart just breaks for her.
My heart, is breaks for all of us.
Happy Mother’s Day… to all of us mums and moms and grans and nans. Especially those who are missing someone they love dearly.
Someone who should be here.