The Most Bittersweet Week of the Year

Today marks the start of the most bittersweet week of the year for me.  I'd say my heart is caught between crushing grief and appreciative joy, but that's not true.  I've been struggling hard against anxiety and anger the last few weeks, and since this week leads up to the culmination of those emotions, I'm more upset than I am happy.  I don't actually feel happy at all.

Myla's anniversary is this week.  My niece's 10th birthday is today.  Nate's birthday is Friday.  His party is Saturday.  And this weekend marks the last that I won't have to send him off with Vince to his father.  

I've gotten so much flack for planning Nate's party late this year.  People are complaining that it's inconvenient, or they have other plans, or I should've been more proactive about finding a better venue.  The truth of the matter is I probably SHOULD have done all of those things.  The problem, however, is that I couldn't.  

I physically couldn't bring myself to make any plans for Nathan's 1st birthday party, because instead of it being the celebration it should be, in my mind, it's simply marking the fact that I will have to give him up every other weekend to the man-child who didn't even want him to begin with.  To the person who actively made my pregnancy with Nathan so incredibly hard.  To the person who frankly doesn't deserve either of the children I've given him. ​

Every time I tried to think about a party for Nate, my heart would shatter.  The fact that I was able to put anything together at all is a miracle, because each decoration I purchased, each favor I checked out and each dessert I ordered was like a punch to the gut.  I didn't want to be celebrating the end of my weekends with Nate, but that's precisely what it felt like I was doing, and it made me so incredibly angry because yet again, the selfish, irresponsibility of John has negatively impacted me.  Not him, because he bears no consequences for his immaturity.  As usual, I'm the one who bears the burden of loss.

But no one else recognizes that.  To them, it appears I'm just an unorganized mother who left the birthday details until the last minute.  

On top of that, Myla's anniversary is Wednesday.  I was in Babies R Us this past weekend and I was assaulted with sadness that I wasn't buying cute little dresses for Myla, who would be 2 years old by now.  Instead, I'm "celebrating" her 3 year anniversary of becoming a saint.  And again, no one in the world cares about this loss but me.  She was never anything more than a frustrating speed bump for John and to the rest of the world, not even a clump of cells.  She was nothing, and that hurts, too, because my daughter was not "nothing."  She will never be "nothing."  But because the rest of the world can't stomach the taboo of miscarriage, she will remain tucked away in the "nothing" category meaning my feelings and grief and frustration are meaningless and unwelcome.  

​But I'm struggling SO HARD to recognize that there are blessings here.  Myla's a saint, after all. That's all a mother can truly wish for her children.  And Nathan is a year old.  My miracle child is a year old.  I was blessed with newborn smiles, tottering first steps, messy spaghetti faces, coos, giggles, and milestones that were denied to me for so long.  What's more, I have a year's worth of memories shared between brothers with a lifetime more to come.  Seeing how much Vincent and Nathan love each other... there is no greater joy for me than that.  There really isn't.  My heart overflows with gratitude when I see them play together.  God is good.  Life is terribly, terribly hard, but God is so, so good.  

So here I am.  This week is already proving incredibly difficult.  There are moments I feel as though I can't breathe from the anxiety.  But there are also moments in which I feel my heart gain traction over my thoughts as it recognizes the silver linings God has placed amongst the storm clouds.  

St. Myla Therese, pray for your momma.  Pray for your brothers.  Pray for your wayward father. Ask the Blessed Mother to get me through this week.  Love you, sweetie.