Yes, I do have three wonderful stepchildren. I adore each and every one of them. I love their quirks, their attitude, and even their tantrums. I love that they call me Mom, Mommy, Mamma – words that I never thought I’d hear. For seven years I have been a Mother – and in the same breath I am not. I am the silent mother, always waiting.
I don’t get the special presents, balloons, flowers, gifts et,c. They save those for their real mom. It’s okay, really it is. I still believe that one day I will have a little one of my own, of my flesh and blood that will celebrate Mother’s Day with me. So I understand the Silent Mother, the Silent Mother is me.
Each time I have thought that “This year will be my year.” I have been greatly disappointed. My heart has been torn out, shattered to pieces and scattered to the wind. I have four angel babies who have each taken a piece of me with them. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of them. I know each one of their due dates – their potential birthdays, birthdays that I will never get to celebrate with them. Holidays, like Mother’s Day that I will never get.
Thinking like this brings this quote to mind:
A miscarriage is a natural and common event. All told, probably more women have lost a child from this world than haven’t. Most don’t mention it, and they go on from day to day as if it hadn’t happened, so people imagine a woman in this situation never really knew or loved what she had. But ask her sometime: how old would your child be now? And she’ll know.
– Barbara Kingsolver
I’m the Silent Mother, who on Mother’s Day, while surrounded by new Mothers and old Mothers, cooing over their children or grandchildren, will just silently sit there and smile, or keep my head down. I’ll be silent as they all talk about their parenting journeys.
I learned a long time ago that my journey to motherhood doesn’t matter to them. In their eyes, I am not seen as a Mother. But I am, I am a Mother, silently waiting on the sidelines. Waiting for my turn, my turn to give advice, my turn to coo and ahh, my turn to parent, my turn to feel a life grow within me. To them – to the “real” mothers, the loud mothers, my losses don’t make me a mother – because, physically they were never here.
Those that have never experienced this loss and this pain will never understand the amount of endurance one needs. Until then, I’ll just be the Silent Mother, always waiting.