Mother's Day

You are my sunshine my only sunshine you make me happy when skies are gray you’ll never know dear how much I love you . Please don’t take my sunshine away.

I told Michael last week that every day is a zero. I wake up, turn off the dimmed light in Sylvie’s bedroom that I turn on after sundown every night. Quickly scan the bed, night table, bookshelf and dresser for some sign of life or change in stuffed animals, sparkly rocks, books. On top of the bookshelf are cryptic notes on an index card in which I wrote the list of items we wanted Sylvie to have with her on her journey. Perhaps I talk out loud or something corny like that. Then I go downstairs where Lucy and Lucky are jockeying for the lead position in front of the pantry. And so my day begins. It’s not like my days entirely suck. Surely I’m surrounded by caring and wonderful friends & family not to mention Michael, Lucy & Lucky & OJ who are comforting and funny. At the end of the day, I ascend the stairs, turn on the light in Sylvie’s room, scan it again, climb into my own bed and say my prayers that always begin with “God bless my precious daughter Sylvie who is in Heaven.” Michael disagrees with my zero-philosophy because he thinks it devalues everyone else which is not my intention. But as I told him, anything times zero is zero.

This Sunday is Mother’s Day and if you know me well, you know that I have never been a fan of it.

I’ve been a little aggravated by the numerous calls and emails about impending doom and Mother’s Day. They bother me more than Mother’s Day itself. I may have gone overboard to a few people about it. I think it’s a lose lose situation, second only to how some of our friends handle birthdays. The vast majority, with the exception of four total, never ever EVER talk about their kids birthdays because well, yes, it extremely bums Michael & me out. But I mean, really, I know when all their birthdays are so it’s a little obtuse! Polina cautioned me that even when I get annoyed by well wishers, that ultimately, everyone is acting out of concern and wants the best for our family. There isn't a handbook on how to handle this. I get it. But no one knows what it’s like to be Michael and Audra. It sucks. Every fucking day. It doesn’t get better. Sylvie is not magically going to appear at 6 am yelling, “I woked up!”,snuggling in bed and getting eskimo nose-rub kisses or disputing that tilapia and salmon are not indeed fish. I'm not trying to diminish anyone else's warm and fuzzy feeling for the big day, but obviously we won't be having champagne brunch tomorrow.

Sylvie’s birthday is May 12, which in 2006, fell two days before Mother’s Day and has always been the real marker of my becoming and being a mother. My aunt sent me a very thoughtful card. Maeve, the director of Sylvie's preschool brought me roses and a thoughtful wonderful tear-jerking card. My friend Sharmon, Jette’s mom, did too. In fact, Sharmon is my closest friend who really knows and understands because her family are card carrying members of the cancer club. Fortunately, Jette or Jedi as we sometimes call her, is doing fantastic and Michael and I kind of live vicariously through her vivacious spirit, unwaivering courage and strength of a thousand Clydesdale horses. Not to mention, Jette (and her sister) made Sylvie so incredibly happy which makes them saints in my book.

Last year, I blogged about all the mother’s who I encountered daily at the hospital who made our days a little brighter. But I neglected to acknowledge the childless mothers like me, or other mothers who have had to bear the tragedy of burying their children. After yoga class today, several of the women wished me a knowing happy Mother’s Day. I appreciated the sentiment because they knew it carried both respect and sadness.

Amanda, best known as Miss Amanda, or Sylvie’s preschool teacher, came over on Thursday afternoon. She had been withholding one very special art project that Sylvie made. Painted handprints and footprints. I was so touched and naturally cried my eyes out. The feet look bigger and I think I may have to match her shoes to the footprints. Siobahn made a handprint in the hospital when, well, you know, and I couldn’t help but think Sylvie did not like getting her hands dirty. Apparently, she loved having her hands and feet painted.

So really, I cry all the time. At the first note of a song or memory. And whenever I see someone who I really like but haven’t seen for a while, I am just a basket case. I can’t help it. I want to apologize. Hand out a courtesy card. One day last week, I opened Sylvie’s closet doors and dresser drawers for the first time in a while. Untouched, like museum pieces. Her favorite jackets, dresses, costumes & accessories, several dozen Princess, Hello Kitty and Tinkerbell panties and a myriad of pretty shoes, most unworn because Sylvie favored her black party shoes to anything else.

I went to temple last night and had not seen the rabbi for a while. He saw my huge belly after the Shabbat service had begun and walked right up to me to give me a huge hug and say that I was glowing. Naturally, the tears began flowing. And when I stood to say Kaddish, I was a puddle of tears. I could see my dad start to cry out of the corner of my eyes.. My mom tries to be strong but she is always on the verge with tissues on hand. There was another family who recently lost their thirty year-old son and I thought how no religion or faith does justice to the notion of losing a child but I was still glad to be there.

Sylvie’s birthday is next week, May 12. That is my Mother’s Day. And it will not be a happy day. I gave Michael a present-- a reclaimed barnwood framed painting of the aforementioned "You Are My Sunshine" lyrics. I had lunch with Michael's mom today. She coined the nickname, Sylvie Sunshine.

I had already made Sylvie’s fourth birthday mix shortly after her third birthday which I wanted to share because the previous three were pretty awesome and I know Sylvie would want her friends to rock out to her favorite songs. I made a CD of them for Samantha and we listened to it while we ran some errands today. She gave me a wonderful card that she made which of course... made me cry. She was unfazed by my tears-- she's used to it. You can check it out here: (http://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewIMix?id=371452140)

Orphan mother
Deflated heart
Beats sadly
Patiently waiting
For reunion.
Swollen womb
With two beating hearts
Their souls entwined
With their sister departed.
To see in them
a piece of her
the greatest hope
For reunion.
To carry on
More aware and
Less naïve
Naked
Higher highs and
Lower lows
Like the Sylvie Rose
the family grows.
-audra