A Day in the Life

Tag: mom

  • Silent Warriors

    After my daughter was born, friends and family that I interacted with have called me a warrior on occasion. Their reasoning being of how I “bounced back” so quickly, or how I have been traversing the different obstacles I’ve been handed. I don’t actually feel like a warrior though. Every day, I have lessons that I am learning, silent battles that I try to overcome. Motherhood isn’t easy, it’s fun in most aspects, but it isn’t easy. When people call me a warrior, I don’t see it at all. To me a warrior is someone fierce that struggles with tasks every single day but pushes through no matter how much life tries to push them back down. Someone who takes the good and the bad in full swing with their head up high, and that doesn’t feel like what I have been doing. I didn’t “bounce back”, I’m just living, taking it one day at a time and hoping for the best.

    You know who I see as a warrior? My mom. When I was a teenager she had an accident that caused her to have nerve damage in her entire left arm. She went through physical therapy, did what she could to get her maneuverability back, but still ran into issues. She has no feeling from the side of her neck all the way to her fingertips, and there was no way to fix it. When the accident happened, my younger sibling was an infant. She couldn’t hold him for long periods of time, and could only do so with one side. She had difficulty doing simple tasks that a mother needs to with a small child. I did what I could to help, babysitting, changing diapers, helping with chores that were two hand jobs. But I could still see the wear and tear weighing on her. It took years to get any sense of control with grip on her left side, and to ensure she keeps it, she works on it daily. Did she complain? Not really, if at all. She rolled with the punches and kept pushing forward.

    Despite some setbacks she has always kept pushing, and there have been a few. Trying to get disability in a time when people were suspicious of fakers was a major battle. She had to go through doctor after doctor, and different tests to prove that she was actually hurt and how. Trying to raise a child as hands on as possible, when she only has one good hand to give. Pulling into handicapped parking spaces to have people ridicule her and call her a fake because no one can physically see her disability. All these events and more she shouldered and persevered, holding her head as high as she could, determined to push right back at life and do whatever she put her mind to.

    She has accomplished a lot of things over the years despite life trying to pummel her. Raising a teenager, maintaining a garden, doing daily tasks of cooking, laundry and dishes. My dad helps her out whenever he can, but he can’t be with her every second of the day, so she figured out little tricks and ways to go about her tasks with or without her left arm. She is a real warrior, one that continues on without much of a whisper, one that fights every day with battles that no one else sees or could understand. You may look at her and see a 59-year-old woman that is fully capable of anything, never even knowing about the silent wars that she is having with the smallest tasks. Some days I think she would prefer having a visible disability, not because of the disability itself, but because people aren’t always kind. They assume and pass judgement without caring about the details, without caring about the person they are throwing their insults at.

    When I see my mom holding my daughter, her first grandchild, I am proud of everything that she has accomplished, everything that she has done to get to this point. She isn’t the only one that struggles. People every day wake up with their own inner battles, their own unseen disabilities. They have to fight every day for the things they need to do, constantly going at war with their own bodies let alone the outside world. These people are true fighters, never giving up despite what society tells them, despite what their own brains may tell them. They push and try every day, not only for themselves but their families. When you see people out shopping, pulling into a handicap spot, or even struggling to get something into their cart. Be patient, be kind, offer help. Not everyone’s battle or disability is visible, The world is harsh enough, if we were all a little nicer, we’d be able to see how many silent warriors there actually are.

  • Mother’s Day

    When I was a kid and well into my teenage years, Mother’s Day was always a labor of love. Emphasis on the labor part, though that wasn’t a bad thing. Every year we would wake up at dawn, get ourselves dressed and ready to go and then make our way down into the city. With a quick stop at a convenience store for a small breakfast thrown in. We’d find parking amongst the large crowds, gather our water bottles and whatever else we would need, and make our way to check in. The only thing my mom wanted to do every year was the Breast Cancer Walk. It was her way of spending time with us, getting out for fresh air and exercise, and giving back to the community.

    Every year we did this, like clock work, for nearly 13 years. It wasn’t about the merch you could get, or the free Wawa tent you could get snacks from after the walk was over, it was about enjoying the time we had with our mom. By the end of the long trek, our belly’s full and legs like jelly, we’d head back to the house and all take a well deserved nap. My dad would wake us up well before my mom would have her alarm set for, and we’d pile in the car to go to her favorite gardening stop and pick her out some flowers. Then we’d stop at the grocery store and get ingredients for whatever we were making her that night. It tended to be something that my dad would hear her say “You know what we haven’t had in a while?” over the course of the month. We’d get back in time to get the groceries away, and place the plants in an obvious spot as mom’s alarm was waking her up. She’d come out smiling, and we would present our gifts, then all make dinner as a family and settle down for the day. Our fun yearly routine.

    Over the years, though we still saw it as fun, it became harder to manage. My older brother would be unable to get out of work, I would have to barter with my college professors to be able to skip the day with minimal repercussion, and over time, my mom’s knees began to not be able to make the full trek. We had to retire the tradition fully when I moved to the next state over, and work made it impossible to get off. Didn’t help that my older brother moved across country and my younger sibling didn’t like taking the long walk at all. We all made it up to mom in our own ways. Surprise visits on days off, or making a point to send her some of her favorite plants, even going as far as sending a special order of her favorite chocolate covered strawberries. We all managed in our own ways, and mom always appreciated it.

    As I got older, I always made a point to call my mom on Mother’s Day, and my mom would always wish me one back. I was a “Fur Mom” as she put it, because my dog was more like my and my partners’ child than a family pet. That’s the way it went for a handful of years, until 2 and a half years ago when I got pregnant. I was excited to be a mom, my partner equally excited to be a father. But due to unfortunate circumstance, it wasn’t meant to be. When I lost our first daughter, I was devastated, and there is a part of me that will carry that loss with me for the rest of my life. I know it, and don’t regret it. I’d rather hold onto that small piece of heartache then lose the memory of her existence. The first Mother’s Day after the loss, I was given off from work, my boss saying that she didn’t want me too overwhelmed since our tragedy a few months prior. I had greatly appreciated the sentiment. The second year I thought I would be better, I had planned to work. Prepared myself mentally the whole week beforehand, but when I woke up that morning and my mother-in-law called to wish me a happy Mother’s Day, I physically got ill. My body and brain had betrayed me, and I was told to stay home. Thankfully my coworkers were understanding and didn’t mind covering the shift.

    That day I still called my mom like I did every year, talked to her for a good two hours, but by the end of the conversation I was still in tears. My best friend came over after she was finished her shift, made sure I could hold down food and water, got me outside for a while for some fresh air, and did whatever she could to get my mind into a better place. I appreciate her hard work and effort, and to this day love her so much for what she has done for me. This year brought much brighter prospects and a much more stable frame of mind. There have still been many things going on, chaos of a baby and work schedules, trying to balance life amongst it all. But this year I was able to get a taste of why my mom had smiled every Mother’s Day for so long.

    I had been able to visit my parents around Mother’s Day, so we made the best of what we had. Upon waking to my daughters happy Coo’s and gentle smiles I already felt like I had won the day, achieved all that I could have wanted. Seeing her laying in her little bed, my heart had felt full. Once the rest of the house was awake it got even better. I got sweet baby cuddles and a small nap time with her resting on my chest. My mom got play time with her granddaughter, and then we all headed outside for some air. My dad watched the baby for a while so my mom and I could do some planting in the garden. We enjoyed getting our hands dirty as we talked and planted, time seemed like it stood still for us to enjoy what we could. After our time playing in the dirt, we all enjoyed playing with the baby in the shade of the backyard, taking turns showing her the trees and flowers. Falling in love with the sounds she made to the birds, and her feisty little arm swings at the petals floating on the breeze. Dinner was a family favorite of mixed seafood and roasted corn, no phones allowed. Just good conversation, good food, and a bottle of formula for the baby.

    The day as a whole was simple and sweet. Not something overly complex or planned out to specific time frames, events happened as they happened. Over all, it was comforting, joyous, and plain fun. When I was young, Mother’s Day meant I was going to be tired, but my mom would be happy. As I got older it seemed another day that I had to work during, then for a while it became a day of pain. Now, looking at my mom and my daughter’s smiling faces, it feels warm. In the future, I may not always get to enjoy it to the fullest, and I know it won’t always be perfect, and some years it may just be chaos. But now I know why my mom always did what she did. It was never about the event or how much money was used, it was about the time spent together and thought that went into what we did. Most moms get flowers on Mother’s Day, but she would get her favorites, in ways that she could add them to her garden to look at them every year they bloomed.

    Now I can experience that too, because every year I visit the house, I can see the plants she and I planted together this year and look back fondly on the memories we shared. My daughter may not remember the day given her age, but she will remember her love of nature and through our stories understand how it all started. Given my own journey, I know that my daughter may not always be a ray of sunshine, and will have highs and lows depending on what happens as she grows. If I could wish one thing for her though, it would be that she gets to enjoy her time with her grandmothers, her mom and one day be able to look down at her own children with the same amount of joy that I have when I look down at her.