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Unknown Mommy

17 Wednesday Apr 2019

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I raise a coffee mug to all my unknown mommies. Oh let’s be real, my coffee mug has wine in it, don’t get me confused with a different kind of  broken woman. This one is for my unknown mommies. Yes, you may be known as mommy to one, two, three, or 16 children (bless your heart if it is 16!). But this is for my mommies that were mommies that lost. Mommies that don’t talk about it to other mommies. Mommies that DO talk about it to other mommies. Mommies that want to talk, but don’t know how.

Here’s to my silent heroes who suffer every birthday, every baby announcement, every adoption commercial, every damn gender reveal with silent tears caught quietly in the sleeve of their shirts. I salute you. I hear you. I see you.

Here’s to my “step” mommies that have lost and yet bear the weight, judgement, and unknowing scorn of the “real” mommies you share your child with.

I recently found out about a silent mommy at a funeral. It was at her funeral that I found out this woman was meeting TWO of her children in heaven. TWO! I know another woman who has had the courage to speak out and share her love, her hopes, her dreams for her child and demand the world acknowledge her baby with love and respect. Yet another woman who shares her love and sadness with only a couple of souls she can connect to in a beautiful way.  I see power in all of these women. I feel jealous of this power sometimes, to be honest. I didn’t realize I was an unknown mommy until this past Christmas when I blurted out my sorrow in an off-handed way after a couple of Christmas morning cocktails.

I want to honor my child. I want to honor and respect that I am an unknown mommy. I want to shout to the world that, “yes I am a step mom, but dammit I am a MOM too!” I don’t know how to start that conversation. I don’t know how to tell people two years later that I lost my only child and I have no hopes of another. I don’t know how to explain how adrift I’ve been. How lost and hopeless my heart remains. How I fill my silence with things, experiences, drinks, and pets! People don’t know how to deal with that. Well,  most people. So let me educate you on the best responses I’ve gotten to the statement ” I was pregnant, lost my child, and am now incapable of having children”

  • Silent tearful hug
  • “Talk to me” followed by silence
  • “I love you”
  • “There is literally NOTHING you can ever say that will make me love you less” said while desperately holding me tightly
  • Literally jump into my lap wrap your arms around me and tell me  “you are amazing and I love everything about you”
  • “What were your dreams”
  • “do you want to talk more?” …..and when met with “no”. …..”Do you want a glass of wine and a fire lit?”
  • Show up to my house with sushi, old movies, and zero questions
  • Bring it up, so I don’t have to
  • Let me bring it up when I want to
  • Understand that I don’t know how to “get over it” and I may never
  • “I understand now”

This life is so hard, even when we aren’t broken. We can actually help each other. We can ask the names of our unknown children. We can stop asking couples when they will have babies. We can start raising women up and start talking about the moments our biology failed us entirely. We can simply be there, silently, without judgement or advice.

All of my love to my unknown mommies–outspoken or silent. You are special and unique, and your baby is loved and honored in this world.

Oliver Jaymes ❤

Honor her sacrifice

28 Thursday Sep 2017

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Men,

Do you have a woman in your life who loves and protects you? Has she taken on the responsibility of mothering a child that isn’t biologically hers. Does she stay awake at night worrying about how that child will grow up, who they will become. Does she pray for you? Does she exhaust herself taking care of your house? Does she lose what little sleep she use to get putting together fun projects, special lunches, unique ways to show your child how much she loves them? Is she literally the most amazing outcome you could have had to shitty start as a parent?

Do you honor your wife? Do you know what that means?

Your wife is invisible to the rest of the world. She doesn’t count. She’s not a mother, and yet she is responsible for all the mother things. She’s not allowed to have any title attributed to her that the world can nod and say, “oh I know who you are”. She’s not allowed to have a say. She’s not allowed most decisions. She can’t even have something special just between her child and herself.  She gets zero credit from the world. From her child. Are you going out of your way to give her credit? Are you honoring her daily sacrifice? Are you showing her your sacrifice too?

Or do you just take. Do you just accept her hard work as common place and expected? Your child learns from you. They watch you. They see you interrupt her speaking and know she is not of value. Her words are not important. They see you ignore her. They see you lie to her. They see you take her for granted.

The step mom of your child committed to sacrifice so many things; her ego, her everyday decision making freedom, her time, her tears, her strength, her sanity, her damn freedom! What have you sacrificed for her? What end of your bargain are you holding up? When you look around, did you get all the benefits of having a child, but none of the responsibility?

Have you left your partner alone to suffer and struggle while you kick your feet up and occasionally say thank you?

You must try harder than most men. You must be more than most men. You do not get to sluff off the responsibility of being an engaged, thoughtful, aware parent because you found a woman willing to do it with you. She said she would do it with you. What did you hear in that promise? Did she say SHE would do it for you?

Your wife is not your child’s mother. Your wife is not YOUR mother.

Are you honoring her sacrifice, or are you just like the rest of the world allowing her to go on invisible?

 

In here, at least, I am not invisible.

Lawn mowing: Do not try this at home

23 Saturday Sep 2017

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My husband and I…..

 

Oh wait did I forget to tell you???? Yep, we got married. (I’ll wait so you can finish celebrating, I know it’s a HUGE deal)

 

So my husband and I had a very rare Sunday where we were both child-free and plans-free. This has not happened in almost two years, mostly because I work too much or school too much or even family too much! But, we had a free Sunday. We both woke up refreshed, made coffee to enjoy on the deck, realized we woke up at 10AM and half the day was gone! So we decided to take the mutt to a dog park for the first time, which was enjoyable for all parties, and then out to a bar for lunch. There is a great place near our house that allows us to bring the dog with us and hang out. So we are sitting at the bar, and the beast is so exhausted from all his dog park running that he mostly doesn’t mind all the people stopping to pet him. I say mostly, because let’s face it, that dog minds everything!

As we are sitting there a husband and wife combo starts chatting with us about the dog. They politely joke about feeding him chips, which she points out her husband should NEVER do because it is not their dog.(Thank you for that my dear!)  I allow the chip to be fed, as he has never had one (at least to my knowledge) and I am sure it would make his beast face happy. They are quite friendly and we get into a bit of a tear filled laughing fit as her husband begins to tell us a story……

 

This is all true…. according to what I was told.

 

Let me describe this man to you. He is about 5’5”, bandana around his head (we are at a biker bar), maybe in his 40’s, tanned skin from a summer of Harley riding I am sure, a leather vest, chain wallet, the works. He is clearly a burly, tough dude. He begins to tell us about his recent lawn mowing experience:

 

I was mowing the yard last weekend, and it was pretty hot out. I had a shirt with the sleeves cut off on, and all of a sudden I started having a heart attack. I dropped the mower, clutched my chest and thought, “This is it, this is how it ends.” I was home alone so I was sure I wasn’t even going to make it back inside. I began to try and make my way back to the house. Clutching my chest, I heaved my person toward the door. I remember stumbling a few times and I fell down to my knees at least twice. The pain was intense, searing heat spreading across my chest. I was certain this was the big one. My arm began to go numb and tingle. Again I got up, heaving myself toward the back door of the house. Praying to all of my Gods I would make it to my phone and at least call my wife, maybe even the hospital. I fell again to my knees, pain shooting through my entire torso at this point, my arm completely numb dangling at my side like a useless octopus’s arm stunned by a sea urchin. I began to make deals with God about what kind of life I would lead. I would do charity work. I would put the toilet seat down! I would even start reading the bible, just let me survive this! I heaved myself up one more time, continuing to make deals and promises to go, octopus arm dragging behind my keeled over body. I made it into the kitchen and there was my phone. As I let go of my chest with my only good arm to grab the phone, I felt the enormity of my situation take over my whole functionality. The world began to tilt. I saw the cabinets I swore I would fix slip up onto the ceiling, my sink and refrigerator suddenly tipped onto the floor, the white hot pain spreading like needling fingers further down into my spine and legs when suddenly I found myself on my back, staring up at the ceiling. Gasping for breath and clutching my phone I dialed 911. I could barely speak and what came out was a series of sputtering dry-heaves meant to pass for the words “Heart attack”. She confirmed I was home and what was my address. I began praying now, we were well beyond promises and negotiations with God. The heat was climbing up my neck and into my skull, much like an aggressive masseuse who just won’t heed your requests to be gentle, digging further in until I was certain if I reached back with good ole Octopus arm, I might feel the gooey insides of my brain. The operator begged me not to hang up, but by now I was sure I was a goner and needed to connect to my bride one last time. Somewhere deep in the oozing recesses of my mind I remembered she was working. I caught what wisp of air was left that I could call my breath, and dialed her work. She answered immediately, and went into a rant about some woman having an attitude as I lay dying on our kitchen floor, staring at the remnants of a spaghetti explosion from 5 weeks ago that I was sure I had mopped off the ceiling. I attempted to interrupt, but it came out as barely a whisper. Finally, she asked why I was calling and I was able to heave out of my lungs, “Heart attack, I’m having a heart attack.” Suddenly she was alert, began asking questions. Where was I? Had I called 911? Where was I going. The pain grew more intense and began to pull back into my chest, locking all of its violent energy back in and around my heart. I realized this was it. I began making confessions, I was ready to apologize for every yellow light I had ever run, I was ready to confess things you should never confess!! I reached up to clutch my heart one last time, certain this was the end. I whispered, “I love you” to my wife. And then I felt it. The bee sting right over my heart. I had been stung in the chest while mowing, and dramatically I survived.

Not only did I have to explain this to my panicked wife, but I also had to convince the EMT that I was not sick and yes it is possible to mistake a bee sting for a heart attack, and no I have not taken any drugs today thank you!

 

This story was fundamentally followed; however, I took some creative liberties with permission from the original teller. Careful when you are mowing y’all!

Someday

04 Saturday Feb 2017

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Someday I hope you know all those times you saw me crying, I was trying to show you there is strength in your emotions, and there’s no shame in your tears.

Someday I hope you know, all those times I told you not to cry, I was trying to help build your strength and confidence, and sometimes I contradict myself as a mother.

Someday I hope you know, all those times you rolled your eyes when I said I had to study, I was showing you the value of education. I wanted you to know you can be anything in this world.

Someday I hope you know all those times Daddy and I argued in front of you, I wanted you to know what a healthy relationship looked like. I wanted you to see me stand up for myself as much as I wanted you to see Daddy stand up for himself. I hope you learned how to behave in a healthy relationship.

Someday I hope you know, you never needed those sparkly pants on New year’s, I wanted you to be surprised for once by me.

Someday I hope you know, I didn’t give you gifts every day to show you I loved you, I wanted you to understand the value of money and be grateful for what you had.

Someday I hope you know, I interrupted you interrupting me to tell you interrupting isn’t nice. Sometimes moms aren’t perfect.

Someday I hope you know, when I was gone for weeks at a time, I prayed someday you would understand the value of a woman’s career as well as her family.

Someday I hope you know, how many times I bit my tongue because I love you.

Someday I hope you know, I didn’t bite my tongue just as often, because I love you.

Someday I hope you know, I made you cover your butt and not wear just leggings to help you learn to respect yourself and your body.

Someday I hope you know, I worried and overanalyzed if that might give you an unhealthy perception of your body when you were older, when you are already perfect.

Someday I hope you know, I ran every day to show your health is important, and so is sanity.

Someday I hope you know, I wished you would run with me.

Someday I hope you know, even though sometimes I was very sad for long amounts of time, I never gave up on you or Daddy, and I valued every hug you offered.

Someday I hope you know, I could be jealous. I struggled not to be, to show you acceptance is kind and there is plenty of love to go around.

Someday I hope you know, I’ve done the best I could to be the best I am for you.

Someday I hope you know you can be just like me, but I hope you are just like you.

Burying pain with kindness

06 Wednesday May 2015

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Let me start by wishing all of you Mommy’s out there a happy Mother’s day! I hope those of you who struggle regularly with the general lack of acceptance of you as a “real” mother, have someone out there this weekend who will call, or write, or text you “Happy Mother’s Day!” In case you do not, let me be the first to honor you, all that you do, all of your heartache, all of your sacrifice, all of your tears of joy and pain; let me be the first to honor you, and wish you a beautiful, blessed Mother’s Day.

I have been crushed through my core in the past. I have been hurt in ways that even my anger couldn’t conjure a cursing riddled with my experiences against another person. I’ve fought and clawed my way back from pain that I shouldn’t have known. Because of my fight for me, I struggle with believing in others. I often struggle with believing in humanity as a good and kind body, capable of honesty and value and positive impact. My career dampens my faith in others ever more, showing me daily the cruel, selfish, and self-serving side of our futures. Trust is a priceless commodity for me, and it takes years to acquire it.

Quite expectedly, it takes moments to shatter what trust you may have stored in your cache of me. I have been building, and working, and fighting for trust to surround me. I have limited my circle to very few, count maybe two hands (including my family). I recently welcomed a few into my circle, believing, having faith that I could trust in them. Believing that they supported me, supported us, what we are trying so desperately to do. I am heart-broken at the loss. I searched frantically for a text-book response to my hurt. Searching for a way to put my heart back together. Angry at how easily I’ve allowed yet another human being to get close enough to crush me. Shocked at my naivety that maybe they wouldn’t. I can’t go back into that black hole. I can’t come back from that darkness again. I never want to be surrounded by that kind of sad emptiness. I can respond differently. I can be stronger. I can bury my pain with kindness, even though you would say they don’t deserve my kindness.

I went out for a bottle of wine. And came back with supplies to make homemade Mother’s Day presents. One for each Mommy in her life. The grandma’s included. She is so excited to be making gifts. So ecstatic to pick out paper to wrap them in. So joyful to have something to give to those she loves on this blessed day to honor Mothers.  So beautiful as her eyes light up in understanding as she points to herself whispering “My Mommy” when I say, “And who is the best Mommy in the world that we should make the most special gift for?” Such accepting, beautiful, wonder and fascination in “our” little secret. No, these are not my Mothers, these women have managed to level a pain against me that I don’t fully understand, can’t fully process beyond my very rare tears. No, these Mothers are wonder and beauty and loving and kind to her. So in my pain, the only thing I can do to continue forward, is to repay in kindness and honor who they are in her life with love.mother-429158_640

Jealousy, and letting go

05 Monday Jan 2015

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The past is in the past. Unless its your past. Then I want to talk about it. I want to analyze it. I want to stress over it. Cry over it. Wonder why I missed out on the biggest firsts of all time. (At least of my all time) I don’t understand why milestones are so important to me. I know when I was younger I always had this fantasy dream about forever. That it was all cupcakes and roses and freaking teddy bears.

Then life punches you in the throat.

You think you’re smart. You think you learn. You feel like, yea, I’ve made some pretty dumb choices, but they’ve all led me to here, and I’m learning dammit! you hear a song on the radio about all the heartache leading to you and it calms your spirit just a little. You decide, I can muddle through.

In all the patience and dealing and analyzing and reacting that we do as step mothers to manage the chaos of being a step mother, when do we have time for our own regular insecurities that we’ve been working on for decades? When do we get to “freak out” over the stupid stuff again? There’s no time! There’s no room in your brain! And eventually all of that “stupid stuff” you were working on to improve yourself as a functional human in today’s society, gets piled up behind you and starts to blur with today’s “normal step mom stuff” and you really aren’t sure if you’re letting go when you should “Let it gooooooo” or holding on to a mole hill that somehow looks like a freakin mountain. So then it becomes all or nothing.

I’ve been consistently demonstrating multiple attitudes towards all of the drama and chaos. I want to know everything. So I know everything, I’m involved in everything, I do everything. Then that gets too emotionally overwhelming, so I chuck the towel at someone’s head, throw my arms up, yell “Uncle” and bail. Informational blackout. Emotional shut down. I don’t want to know anything, I refuse to plan, be involved, learn, adapt, assist, etc. And then it all goes sideways. So I’m back in like a referee planning, adapting, avoiding, and prepping for doomsday.

Does this sound like a full time salaried job that you work 80 hours a week at? Can I hire an assistant? Can I get an event planner? A judge? Jury? How about someone to just clean the windows and give me a brighter view of the rest of the world. Being a parent is hard, nobody tells you being a step mom with her own issues, her own fears, her own concept of understanding ruling her world, is going to be one hell of a handful on your psyche.