This day that year – Coping with the loss of My Mother while pregnant

Some beautiful moments with my mother from my marriage!

It’s been two years since she is not with us anymore. Who is she? She is my mother. Today is her second death anniversary and all the memories related to that dreadful day that is still fresh in my mind come gushing in. All this while I had kept myself shut.  I had decided I would share my feelings when it would be a lot less hurting. But only recently I realized that there won’t be any time when I would not feel the void that the loss of my mother has created in my heart, and in my life. Tears roll down as I write this, but this time I have decided there’s no easy way to it and there’s going to be none in the years to come.

The truth that my mother isn’t here anymore took a while to sink in. I was unable to comprehend how she could have gone just like that. I had just talked to her the same morning, though not for long as she wasn’t allowed to use phones due to the surgery. My greatest regret is that I didn’t even get to say my final goodbye.

That fateful day, on hearing her sudden demise people had started pouring in, in great numbers. My mother was the kindest soul there could ever exist. The lives of the people she had touched, the lives of the people she had influenced, directly or indirectly, all of them were visiting to pay her their last tribute, to show their deepest condolences. They especially came up to me to console me as I was in the most vulnerable, the most fragile state anyone could be in. But my heart was beyond any consolation for the pain I felt was unendurable. I knew they meant well. But the loss was beyond repair. My life, my world was in a total wreck – shattered into the smallest of pieces which couldn’t be put back together even if I wanted to. I was growing an innocent life inside me, the most blessed of things any woman could do and it somehow felt as though it was the biggest sin at the moment.

And I didn’t want to listen to all that, “It happens”, “Life is cruel”, “It has happened with me”, “I know how you feel” – meaningless stuff. To all those people who kept telling me not to cry, not to stress, I wanted to shout to their faces, at the top of my voice, that nobody can know how it felt at the time even if they have been there, just nobody. And none of their words were good enough to give me comfort, to give me peace, which could take away the suffering; none of them at all. I was in a state of utter anguish. I wanted to cry, I wanted to mourn the massive loss and here people were asking me not to, as it could harm the baby. Instead, I kept staring at their faces, blank, without any expression, for being so insensitive. I knew they meant well, but I didn’t want their sympathy. I didn’t want anybody to pity me. I wanted to be alone – just me and her memories, and oh, my unborn baby.

I was going to become a mother myself and I cared least for the impeccant life growing inside me! I confess I am guilty of feeling that way when all I could do was praise for the blessing I was bestowed with when one life was taken. I was torn between what was right and what I wanted. It ached from not being able to cry as much as I wanted to for the very fact that it would harm the baby. I wasn’t even allowed to attend her last rites since I was carrying for some stupid custom where pregnant ladies are shunned from it. I cursed myself for it. She was my mother goddamn it. And I will have to live with this regret, forever.

Some lovely moments with my mother from my graduation!

For the countless days that followed, while on one hand each one of us tried to stay strong for each other as we began wearing our strongest facade of a face, trying to hide what an emotional wreck each one was inside. On the other hand, each one kept trying to find nooks, corners, and places to secretly cry their heart out so that the others didn’t know about it, only for the fact that those swollen, puffy tear-ridden eyes gave way to what exactly the other was feeling.

She was the first one we had broken the news that we were expecting. She had already bought stuff for her would-be-grandchild and even knitted booties and mittens as we were going to have a winter baby. I wanted to share so much with her, ask her so much.

“What it was like when my mother was pregnant with me?”

“What it was like to raise me?”

“How was I as a baby?”

“Did I trouble her a lot?”

“Does my child bear an uncanny resemblance to what I was as a kid?”

I am left with so many unanswered questions. I cannot help but wonder. It’s difficult to be living a life without her. Sometimes I feel it’s just a bad dream and when I open my eyes she will be there, only that it’s an ugly reality we have to live with every day. There’s this gutted feeling in the stomach all the time, cringing me constantly. This entire void only lets me believe what mothers mean to their children; what I, as a mother, mean to my baby.

I would have gone into depression if it hadn’t been for Mr. Husband. He has been this unwavering source of strength this whole time. He was there to be the pillar every time I needed to lean on. He was the shoulder each time I used to cry on. He is the witness of the tiniest tear that has ever gleamed in my eyes.

Now two years later, with Shaarav in our lives, it still hurts the same way; only the expression of it has changed. I share stories of my mother, I share stories about her, and I share her stories, to find ways to keep her in our thoughts, to keep her alive in our memories. I find ways to make Shaarav get acquainted with his “Naani” whom he couldn’t meet from the memories I have of her, tell him how she would have said or what she would have done if she was here with us today. And let me tell you, even at this tender age Shaarav knows who his “Naani” was and he has already grown fond of her. Alas, I still can’t help thinking and be wondering how different our lives would be if she was here with us today. Read my earlier post on “Surviving the Loss of Your Mother while Pregnant”, from Mr. Husband’s point of view.

Love,

Mrs. Sunshine

May her smile continue to make our lives bright and beautiful!

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I have been that Mom, but I dare to break free

Enjoying some fun time with my munchkin because I have been that Mom

Motherhood comes in seasons and I am in that season of motherhood where the heat of the season is getting to my head. I am exhausted and ragged to the bone most of the time, burdened with responsibilities which keep on mounting and doesn’t seem to end. Yes, I have been that Mom.

There are moments of spectacular delight like yesterday when my little munchkin Shaarav came up to me unannounced and started saying, “Mummy-stan up (stand up)-dance, mummy-stan up-dance” on repeat mode. It’s a delight because 1) he’s just 18 months old and learning to talk with his two-to-three-word sentences 2) I’m hearing him speak this for the first time and 3) I am surprised how he learned to say this because, apparently, I don’t remember teaching him. He brings me sheer delight in moments when asked to say sorry, he holds my ears instead of his and says, “Sooweeeee.” And suddenly in the middle of his play, when he comes and sits beside me and says, pinching my cheeks, “Cheek, Cheek, Cheek” (because he learned to tell cheek and chin last week) or when after waking up in the morning, the first thing he does is come to find me in the kitchen and greet me with his brightest smile, or those times when I find him trying to repeat my ‘go to’ words in his baby voice and looking at me for approval. How I wish I get to soak in moments only like these!

But then, motherhood is also made up of moments when I find myself struggling to make through the day, feeling heavy and tired from lack of sleep, round-the-clock demands of an active toddler and heaping undone chores. Moments like these, give me nightmares when he pulls my hair, bites me at whatever place he can find, playfully hits me (though it still hurts) with whatever he gets his hands at, never lets me nap if he’s awake, sits on me, jumps on me, stands on me, scrambles my kitchen or strews his toys all over the house.

Shaarav tests my patience in a way no one else can. He will repeatedly do things he’s not asked to, driving me crazy and making me lose my temper. I think he purposely picks the dustbin and litters around, scatters my kitchen again the fifth time I arranged it in the day, climbs the dining table and occasionally fusses about food only to annoy me. Because he is exactly the opposite when he’s with his father. He is so well-behaved around him. That is the case with stay-at-home-moms, at the end of the day, we both want to break free from each other’s company and let out cries of joy the instant we hear the doorbell ring. We both jump to open the door to Mr. Husband and find relief from each other. It hurts and feels guilty, sometimes, for being happy to be away from him. And I feel that I completely fail as a mother not just in doing my mommy duties properly, but also for not being able to instil good manners in him. I feel like a bad mother, guilty for not being a good mom and that his behaviour towards me is a result of my actions towards him.

Patience has never been my greatest virtue. And because of my toddler throwing tantrums, I often find myself on the verge of a nervous breakdown. And as a result, very often I lose my temper, but how I wish to be like those moms who follow gentle parenting. Some days go by so smooth that I need to pinch myself if I am dreaming. But some days nothing seems to work at all – positive parenting, negative parenting, TV, chips, chocolates (anything and everything for that last strand of sanity). But nothing works. Nothing at all. And the patience of an already patience-deprived mom gets all thinner and thinner. And several times throughout the day I feel like I am failing him as a mother.

Often I have this strikingly contrasting feelings of deep motherly love interspersed with feelings of deep mommy guilt. I am angry and frustrated for struggling to hold it together. Part of my anger I get as heredity from my father, part of it stems from utter exhaustion, part from my toddler’s erratic behaviour and him wreaking havoc in the entire house, but mostly just because of me. But then, I constantly feel guilty when I lose my patience and deal with the situation outside of what I believe to be ideal. I often feel like I am falling into an abscess of insanity and I feel like all I have been doing is yelling and screaming at him when all I want is to be a patient mother, be present for him and having fun together.

I have watched my sanity and patience run out on several occasions earlier, but the other day I completely lost it and spanked my son. Yes, that’s a starkly naked truth and you can judge me all you want. Yes, I have been that mom. Yes, I spanked him in the spur of the moment as I ran out of my patience. I can’t remember what it was for but I was completely aghast and scared out of my wits about how my temper had unleashed on my small kid. And, immediately after, I felt immensely terrible and even before ‘he’ could begin crying I had already started to cry. I have been in tears before for yelling at him, but this was like no other and entirely different altogether.

I cannot begin to (but still dare to) describe how ashamed and embarrassed I am about it. This was one of those times when my lack of patience and sanity gave way to this tremendous meltdown I feel so awful about. We both sat there crying together – he because of physical pain, but mine was more of an emotional one. I cried my eyes out feeling mortified as an upsurge of guilt engulfed me. It was when the crying turned to sobs that suddenly I felt two little hands cup my cheeks. Shaarav stood up abruptly to wipe my tears and with his arms wide open he started saying, “Mummy, hug, Mummy, hug, Mummy hug.” And all I could do was bring him closer to me, hug him tight and shower him with kisses all over his beautiful little face. He was all confused but still managed to let out a sweet smile making me smile back too. Yes, I have been that mom, too.

It’s astounding how children can be exceedingly forgiving without hesitations and reservations. And in that moment, looking into those little tear-ridden eyes but a still cute smiling face, I had the greatest realization of my life. I could see in those little eyes the pain and the love he felt for me – unconditional, selfless love. It made me realize that if my son could love me so much I could never be a bad mother. And, when I would have rather chosen to cringe and feel remorse for my own regretful action, that small gesture of innocent kindness from my little human motivated me to rise to occasions like these. And it dawned on me, it has never been a battle against me and my baby, but it is a war against me and my temper which I need to win and emerge victorious to proclaim the true spirit of motherhood back.

Such is the ebb and flow of motherhood. We are humans after all, and though we like to call ourselves supermoms, we don armours with little cracks shining it through countless battles of courage and valour like these. And I guess it’s allowed. And when my child can forgive me, it’s time I should forgive myself too. So, from now on I dare to break free and take equal pride in accomplishing the hardest job in the whole world of being a mother, and at the same time crushing it no lesser. Because just as my kid needs love, forgiveness, and acceptance I need them too. It’s time I should throw the shame out of my guilt and dare to own the compassion and courage it takes to stand tall for being realistic, honest and vulnerable at the same time.

So here I am, daring to break free of my own limitations and fringes to tame my temper. This fight is worth winning for my tiny human, who believes in me and loves me with all his little heart. Because though I’ve been that mom whose life is filled with plenty of moments that don’t make for pretty pictures, I want my son to have memories of me and our relationship which he can cherish later. So, rather getting drowned in the guilt-tide and dwell on the thing of the past, and instead of feeling sorry and get stuck, I choose to learn and redeem myself and let it go for once and for all. I refuse to get ruled by my temper from now on. I refuse to let go of my quiet amidst the chaos. I promise to practice grace to my little guy and myself. I dare to break free of my guilt, forgive myself and start afresh on my journey for my biggest victory – a gracefully realistic and a vulnerably honest motherhood, in its truest spirits.

And, as I sit to write this piece, I can see my mess-monster from the corner of my eye sending his Lego pieces go flying in the air, here and there (some even managed to hit me), and now they are strewn all over the place (even after being asked not to the 20th time). But I am sitting here keeping my calm and being chill about it though when I am finished, I will have to clean up the room after him. I am trying to be that mom who is good for both of us. The journey has begun!


This blog post is a part of the Dare-a-thon blog train organized by ‘The Momsteins’. Dare-a-thon features a one-day blog train with 29 daring moms onboard who share their posts on a Dare theme on the event of World Dare Day. This is my first ever participation in a blog train and it was really fun, exciting and a privilege to be a part of. In the same context, I would like to thank “the Momsteins” for letting me join for the fun. I would like to thank Sonia Chaudhary of Maxmumsonia for introducing me. Sonia is a fellow mom who shares the varied emotions of her motherhood journey of raising a lovely daughter. And in turn, I would like to introduce Akanksha of Mummatolilmissy to carry forward the train. Join her as she begins her blogging journey with this blog train. Please check out their posts on daring stories shared by them as well as other wonderful posts on the theme by other boarders as well. Here comes the train! Choo Choo!

Love,

Mrs. Sunshine

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