I think of it as that even more, seeing where so many of the people that I filled my life with have ended up.
I think of you as the person who saved me. And I loved you so much, I wanted to do it again and again... and so your brothers came to be, and I have never been happier about something in my life.
The journey of motherhood has, for me, been both the most natural and the absolute hardest experience, filled with the most joy I have ever known, while simultaneously plunging me into the depths of despair as I have struggled through postpartum depression and anxiety.
I have prided myself on rising up and learning everything that I can about special needs programs, about getting through the often complicated process of wraparound therapies, speech, medicaid, and everything else that comes along with making sure you, my kids, have the best chance at excelling and having an easier time when I can't be there watching over you. And I am proud of the faith I have in you, I'm glad I am so confident that you (all of you) really are going to be more than okay as you all grow up.
Things were starting to feel good, you see, it felt like a rhythm was taking place in our life. I thought that things were the way everyone must experience them.
But then.... something terrible happened in my life, and all of the normalcy in the chaos of motherhood.... it turned into just chaos, and I have been holding on for dear life and hoping you kids forgive me someday.
When your uncle died, a part of me died with him. And it has made me unsure of myself, it has put me into a fog of depression and sadness that I only wish that I could say I'd never known. And as much as I have tried to keep everything normal for you, I know that this year has been hard for you because of me.
Grief has made me unpredictable.
Even as I sit here, writing this, you are coming to me, sitting beside me, and you are watching my face. You are wondering if I am about to laugh with you, at you, chase you, play.... or am I going to be quiet, seeing you but not really seeing you, distracted, sad, maybe angrier than the situation calls for when you cause some mayhem.
I hope that you know that I am trying so hard to be normal, and that this is the best I can do right now. I hope you know that if I could be better, I promise I would be.
I spend a lot of time thanking my God for you. I close my eyes and shoot up a prayer, thankful for your distraction, for the bursts of pure joy that come out of you and radiate straight into my heart, the laughter that fills my ears and my soul, the moments of cleverness that astound me and make me smile genuinely, make me forget that I am torn apart, make me feel whole and wonderful and alive. I wonder where I would be if I didn't have you in my life, filling my days with your antics, distracting me from thinking about what I always think about, just not head on.
And then.... I spend a lot of time raging at this same God, cursing him out, screaming with every fiber of my being, every cell in my body, for letting this happen. For letting me have you, for letting me fuck you up, for letting this happen when you need me and letting me be so disgustingly useless. I read these studies about the effects on children whose mothers suffer from depression, particularly at the critical developmental period that you all are in RIGHT NOW, and it makes me weak. It makes me weep. When I am feeling particularly low and alone, it sometimes makes me wonder if you would be better off without me at all. It sits in the back of my mind, dimly lit, buzzing, annoying, just close enough for me to know it's there. It's scary, and I am glad that it makes me afraid, because it shakes my grief and moves it out of the way so that I can think about watching you grow up.
I think about loving you for your whole life, and I find this strength to keep going, to push myself past what I think I can do, and then I do more.
I want your life to be magical.
I want you to be happy.
And so out of this grief, I find love. I find him in pieces of you, I find moments of my life before you shining through in you, and I will myself to shake this fog away, to be here now.
I pray that you remember the good days more than the bad, and so even when I cannot do it, I do.
This is hard. And for me, it always will be hard to look back at this incredibly complicated period of life, where I will always wish I could go back to, to relive you in your innocent toddler stages, and where I will always run away from the heartache that is losing the first and best friend in my life.
I hope, above it all, that you know, that before everything else, you feel the love I have for you before you remember the rest.
Love,
Mom
