Last Sunday, May 14, was specially hard for me. My birthday coincided with the nationwide celebration of Mother’s Day. People all over are greeting moms, telling them how they are the greatest. Watching ASAP with Jolina Magdangal hosting this special tribute to non-celebrity moms while doing the dishes was a struggle.

I cried silently, careful not to let Cris know; my fat tears mixing with the dishwashing liquid’s foamy formation on the sink. It was a good five minutes of this drama before I decided that I had enough. I searched for the remote and turned off the TV.

A friend who had a miscarriage, too, warned me about how Mother’s Day is specially difficult for us.  For it is a reminder of what you have lost and what could have been. And seeing moms, especially the ones who are just pregnant or recently gave birth, hurt. You want to be happy for them, but you can’t help but feel sorry for you, too.

That’s the sad reality.

I am not a birthday person but on that day, I decided to celebrate like a normal birthday person would. I think part of me was determined not to waste the day feeling sorry for myself. That is not what Ezra would want his Mama to do.

One of my friends whom I barely talk to these past months sent me a message which struck me the most:

This year is just starting and it became the happiest and toughest at the same time. I admire that you can still stand up and offer your smile to everybody. Wishing you more doses of strength, more smiles to offer.

Cheers to your life, Dada.

And in part, he was right. I am one of the most pessimistic person I know, mostly because I believe in self-preservation. I don’t want to get my hopes up over something that will not even materialize. But through this journey, I discovered that I can be really optimistic if I wanted to. And that my strength is something that could withstand all of my weaknesses.

My sister-in-law who, coincidentally, shares her birthday with mine greeted me a ‘Happy Mother’s Day’. She insisted on it upon seeing the surprised look on my face. “You’re still a mother”, she said. Thinking it through, she is absolutely right. I may not have a baby now but I’m currently a mother to my angel. I appreciate her bluntness sometimes. I’m so grateful to her for not skirting around the issue and trying to be polite.

One of the sweetest gifts that I got was from my brother-in-law. It was a picture of Ezra (represented by Ezra Miller as The Flash) playing with Mr. Frodo. A poem was attached to it that makes me tear up every time I read it:

 

Mama don’t fret. Papa be strong…

Don’t worry, Ezra. Mama and Papa are trying their best. 

It took me almost a month to finish this entry. Part of me was thinking to delete this altogether because this site is becoming a wee bleak. But I found that honest writing helps in the recovery. Especially since I had a hard time talking about my real thoughts and feeling with the people around me. Sometimes I feel like having an alter ego. The public Dada is the happy Dada, while the private Dada is the one who still cry a little every night and still dwell on her what ifs.

Little by little, step by step, I’ll get there…

I already made a small achievement by congratulating a couple friend for being pregnant. And in so doing, I only felt genuine happiness. No sadness; no feeling sorry for myself.

One day at a time…

As they say, there’s always a rainbow after the rain. And right now, these two boys are the very spectrum that completes me.

Someday there might be four, five, or six of us in this rainbow. Who knows?