It’s 10/10 today. it would have been my mom’s 73rd birthday. The first one I would have been able to give her the only present she ever wanted. But she’s not here, and today of all days, I’m painfully aware of it.
It’s been a strange day. My friend, D, gave birth to a baby girl this morning at 35 weeks. I haven’t heard any specifics, health-wise, but she’s texted pictures of her holding the baby with her 6-year-old standing next to her, so i assume all is well.
My work friend, J, has been out all week, spending the last precious days with her dying father. She was back at work today, afraid to use up all her PTO, and we talked about death, the aftermath, and coping. I teared up telling her I really wished my mom was still with us on days like today.
And I’m sure I’ll want that even more the day this child is born. And during the weeks following, when my mother would have come to stay, to help me with the baby and keep my house in order.
My mom knew all along about our infertility and the road we’d likely have to take to build our family. She used to ask when? When would Hubby get a job? When would we be able to begin treatment? When would she finally be able to hold another grandbaby in her arms?
I didn’t have answers for her then. We were still years away from IVF when she passed away three and a half years ago. Because of the expense. Because Hubby was unemployed. Because we were expecting to be uprooted at any time, ready for the next adventure.
That adventure begins soon. First Hubby’s new job, in a new city, in a whole new country. Then, a few months later, the greatest adventure of all.
And I hate that she’s not here to witness any of it. All she saw of our life together was the struggle. We were happy. We loved each other. But nothing was easy.
I wish she could be here for the triumph.