Then September of 2010, my blog grew a heavy heart. This became a place where I could share the story of my daughter, when the world barely got to know her. I hoped if anyone visited regularly, it'd be my family. So they might be able to understand what we were going through behind closed doors. That they might want to continue remembering Savannah with us. Along side us. And more than anything it was a place where I could write, and come back to, just so I could remember her. So I could remember her story. So I could feel her again and again and again. I wanted to shout from the highest mountain, and for people to not just hear me, but truly listen. "This is what a year without our baby was like." And quicker than I ever could have imagined, that year was gone. But incredibly, as a mother, as her mother, my grief did not stop there. Everyday is a new day. Everyday I am given reasons to smile. Everyday I wake to my beautiful children. The ones who wadded the storm with us, and the one whom followed our goodbye. Everyday is a reminder that God does love us. And everyday there is something out there that remind us of her.
The word "grief" will always hover. It will never be as suffocating as it was the first week, the first month, or the first year, but it will always be there. Because she very much does reside in our hearts. She will never ever go away. So you can think, that because I choose to still write about her, I have no hope. You can think that because her pictures still and will always hang in our home, that I need to let it go. You can worry about me, tire of me speaking her name, or smile awkwardly when I acknowledge my deceased daughter as my child. I am okay with that. But this is apart of my story, and you have never (or that I hope) walked in my shoes. You never kissed Savannah's tiny quarter sized hand. You never kissed her cold, yet still chubby cheeks. You did not carry her, deliver her, or love her anywhere near the way that I do.
I have never walked in any other mother's shoes. I don't know their grief. I know my own. And it will always be there. As long as I am her mother.
I received a junk email the other day. Asking me, "would you like to boost traffic to your blog?" It listed suggestions on how to do just that. Post everyday. Being my family, are usually the people who don't read my blog, no one really wants to hear that we went camping, were mauled by mosquitoes, and froze to death. And no one really wants to hear that my mothers day was spent mostly crying. -Post pictures in every blog. My blog is mainly about living life without Savannah. My pictures are limited. There will never be new pictures of her. I take a picture of her gravesite at every visit, but to others, one headstone picture is plenty.
A few days before mother's day, my mother-in-law finally got a chance to give us copies of the pictures she took of Savannah, when she came to see all three of us at UC Davis. I had never seen any of them. There were fifteen. The last "new" fifteen pictures I will ever see of my daughter in my life. So here you go junk email. A picture on my post. I really don't think it will boost my traffic though...
"Call in and tell us YOUR perfect mother's day.
One lucky winner will get their dream day."
They then played an example "wish" from a caller. Not to be surprised, as mother's day is actually very superficial...
"You see, I truly love my two girls....
But I would love an evening with just my husband.
We would take a helicopter ride over the city,
and eat dinner at a restaurant we could never afford otherwise."
My husband asked, "what would your perfect mother's day be?"
I dunno I shrugged, and turned the radio down.
Obviously I didn't win. Because obviously I didn't call in. May 13th, I woke up and took a shower. Then proceeded to sob as I told my husband about why I was hurting so badly. I said, "that radio contest. They said to describe your perfect mothers day. If I called in all I would say would be, I just want my baby back. And you know what. I know they would never ever pick me as the winner."
Mother's Day is about being a mother. You are always acknowledged for the living children you have. Expectant mothers are even acknowledged. But mother's day is a painful reminder for mothers who are and always will be missing one. I am Savannah's mother too. And I will never have my perfect mothers day. Another example of how I will always carry this grief in my pocket. My mothers day, the mothers day for women who loved and lost, will never be perfect again. Because our lives? It's no fairy tale.
"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen, nor touched,
but are felt in the heart"
- Helen Keller