Bereaved Mother's Day

Yesterday was Bereaved Mother's Day. I first heard about this significant day last year. Part of me pushed against the idea to further delineate ourselves when we are and will always remain mothers. Yet another part appreciated the pause, the creation of space for mourning and lament.

I haven't written at all this semester. I was busy in classes full-time and interning at an inpatient hospice facility two days per week. All of my writing was done for professors to follow a rubric and secure an A. There were a few reflection papers where I struggled with writing from my heart, after practicing a clinical APA-driven style for so long. Even professors were requesting more of me in my writing, which was comical given how much I had worked from my first semester to remove myself from my writing. Next year will be my quest for balance.

I have one more year of graduate school and fieldwork before I am officially going to secure my MSW in May of 2022. It has been a journey and I have been stretched, challenged, yet tethered to my goal and purpose.

I took a death and dying class in the spring that helped to bolster my desire to work within the dying community. I will be working with children who have been given a life-limiting diagnosis in the fall and their families, and with children who have lost a significant loved one. It is going to be difficult, holy work. I am looking forward to learning, listening, and creating sacred spaces.

We are over a year into the pandemic. We love our new home, but still feel we have a lot to learn about her and our community. We are beginning to explore more, having been vaccinated. We are continually thrilled about this new vibrant walkable neighborhood we are able to call home.

While we adore our new surroundings, I have found myself feeling quite far removed from Waverly & Oliver. I can no longer go to their rooms and feel their presence, smell their closets of clothing, lay on their quilts. I can't remember each space where they stood and recall a moment. They are everywhere in the new house, photos, special toys, artwork, quilts, but it is more memento than presence. They were and are no longer.

In an effort to accomplish all I needed to this semester I may have separated myself a little too much from my grief. I felt untethered at times, without a foundation to secure me. While working in hospice, I learned to rely on my mounting professional experience to draw from, instead of my personal story. This was a vital lesson and paramount to my ability to be effective with my patients and their families. I hope to spend this summer processing my work experiences and working through various personal things that came up that I had to shove aside for another time.

Mother's Day is six days away.