I grabbed my phone to take this picture, although it looks as though Finn were the photographer. Of course Mary, who had been smiling moments prior, decided she would make this adorable stink face for the picture.
It's hard to see, but I'm wearing a necklace with a little gold disc that reads, "cale." Miles got it for me last year for Mother's Day. It's a beautiful necklace and if I'm not wearing it, I'm usually wearing a silver one with his name or one with his initial my sister-in-law gave me. But almost every day, I have some sort of Cale jewelry on.
But I wish that instead of pretty necklaces symbolizing my first child, that the space in the bottom right of that picture was occupied. There will forever be an empty space in our family that I wish was filled with the immeasurable, yet massive, absence he left behind.
I miss him.
I miss him as Mother's Day approaches and I can't kiss his sweet face and look into his brown eyes and thank him for making me a mother. And I miss him on days that are sunny and beautiful and I can smile and laugh and hold my two other children (and fur baby).
I will miss him on Mother's Day and I will miss him always.
Mother's Day will always be bittersweet for me, as I know it is for so many. And to be honest I don't want the day to be much different than any other day because of the emotional complexity it brings. Today I saw some beautiful hydrangeas at the grocery store and sent a picture to Miles as a hint for a last minute gift idea. Seriously, Miles - you could just get me a plant and I'd be thrilled. Typing that out is just another reminder how much I am turning in to my own mother. Which I suppose is fitting given the topic at hand.
This Sunday I suspect will be like all days, and like all Mother's Days. A little sad, mostly happy, and also sort of exhausting. If the weather cooperates we plan to go tot he beach (because we live near a beach now and I plan to continually remind my friends and family of that fact to lure them in for a visit). And I will enjoy the day and our two kids, one who probably won't sleep through the night, the other who probably will sit in time out at least once. And I'll miss their brother with a little extra tug at my heart on the day I can claim as mine, because of him. So this Mother's Day, if your heart is heavy and your missing your own mom, or one of your kids, or your chance to have ever been a mom - I hope the day is a gentle one. And hope someone buys you a nice plant.