Motherhood

Content Warning: Miscarriage

The envelope was heavy in my hand as I held it between my fingers. I traced over the swirls of lettering that made up my name, opening the envelope to a cream-colored card that insisted on everyone’s presence for Mother’s Day brunch. The words stabbed at me despite my efforts and I willed the pain away as I took another swig of Jack, throwing the bottle into the backseat before stepping out of my car. The brunch was my sister Julie’s idea. My perfect sister with her perfect job, perfect husband, perfect life, perfect kids… She wanted to show off the new patio in her mansion-sized backyard and thus invited practically the whole neighborhood to her shindig. I scanned the empty street for any indication that they knew I had arrived and, when I saw none, I turned on my heel, heading back toward the safety and comfort of my empty apartment. Too soon, I whispered, as a soft clear of a throat made its way towards my retreating form. I glanced back, eyes meeting with my sister’s. If looks could kill, hers would have, and I didn’t hesitate before I turned and strode back towards her, hands shoved in my pockets for whatever moral support I could find in them.

“How are you leaving already?” Her voice was light but an undertone of annoyance and desperation caught my attention.

“Jules…” I sighed, running a hand through my hair and shuddering slightly when it came back greasier than a French fry. I made a mental note that I needed to stop allowing my emotions to rule over my hygiene. “You know I… It’s hard.” I finally responded. There was a flash of confusion in her eyes right as her mouth formed a little, “o”, and then recognition shone across her face.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Kait. I…”

“You forgot. Its ok, I understand. It’s been months.” I replied a little too quickly. To be exact, it had been 5 months, 2 weeks, and 6 days. When I looked up, I instantly regretted it. Jules was too late to fix her face before I noticed the pity in her eyes; pity I’d spent all 5 excruciating months trying to escape from. It was a constant reminder of loss. But it seemed to be a loss only I carried still. A loss only I would carry forever.

“Just come in for a second, Kaitlyn. Really. I promise you’ll have a great time. This isn’t just a brunch for us. It’s a brunch for you.” My gaze snapped to Jules as the words left her lips and it was in great effort that I held back the sob building in my throat. My eyes burned with unshed tears and I looked away before Jules could see even a bit of shine in them.

“Fine. But you get five minutes and I’m leaving.” I retorted. Jules beamed at me, spinning in a happy circle before striding back to her front porch. I followed reluctantly, my hands still shoved into my pockets, and I flinched as the party noise leaked out of the front door. As we stepped into the foyer, the tinkling laughter of children echoed down the hallway and I hesitated. It took no second at all for the familiar tightening to begin in my chest as my breathing picked up speed. I could feel the sweat forming on my palms and I took the chance to find an escape, any escape. I pinned one down quickly, a door that led out to a balcony overlooking the back garden. There were kids running about, smiling at their mothers, laughing with each other, and I bee-lined towards freedom. The humid summer air washed over my face and I relaxed instantly. It had been a long time since I had felt that way. But, then again, it had been a long time since I had been anywhere.

“How long?” The question hung in the air like a party balloon tied to the railing and I glanced over at the answer seeker. The girl was about my age, shoulder length brown hair, eyes to match. She held a lit cigarette to her perfect lips, taking a long drag, before blowing the smoke out from her nose.

“Excuse me?”

“How long has it been? Since your loss?” The girl asked again. I was stunned. I had never been asked so bluntly before and she must have noticed because she laughed and walked over to me. “We all come out here at some point. It’s easy to spot the ones who share grief.” I followed her gaze to the open window. I watched all the ladies weaving in and out of each other on the dance floor, their smiles brightening the room. I watched the ladies engaged deep in conversation over a mimosa and avocado toast, laughing without a care in the world. But then I saw the ladies that sat alone. The ladies that took the last sip of their drink with an urgency that comes from pain. The ladies that watched the activities and the mothers with their children and yearned. I opened my mouth to speak but my sister bounded out of the house toward me with purpose.

“Come here.” She said. I tilted my head in confusion and risked a glance at the girl who’d questioned me. She shrugged lightly before nodding. I nodded back and then followed my sister inside the living room. She pulled me to the middle of the room, gathering the rest of the ladies around me in a weird, unformed circle. Jules paused for a moment, taking in the questioning and confused looks of some of the guests, and winking at those who must have been in on her moment. “As you guys know, I brought you here to celebrate the joy of motherhood.” The stab of pain was fierce through my heart and I turned toward the only opening I could fit through without a fight. My sister put her hand on my shoulder before I could step forward. I met her eyes and what I saw stopped any thought I had of leaving. There was anger, sadness, frustration, pity… but most of all, understanding. “This is my sister Kaitlyn,” She continued, her eyes filling with tears to match the ones that were falling down my cheeks, “5 months ago she lost her baby. This day is just as much about the forgotten moms as much as it is all moms. I am dedicating this brunch to her and my niece in the stars. To all of you and all the angel babies with us today and I thank all of you for coming to support her and each other.” As her words hit me, so did my feelings. It was like the wall I had carefully constructed to keep it all at bay was weaker than I had thought. It crumbled under the weight of my pent-up emotion and so did I. My knees hit the floor as sobs wracked my body. I allowed all the pain and sorrow I had not let myself truly feel pour through me. In between sobs and apologies to those watching me, I felt hands on my back, my shoulders, and my head; a comforting squeeze here and there or just a soft, lingering pat of reassurance. Then there were the hugs. One by one I was hugged by women who knew my loss and my pain. They shed tears with me, they laughed with me, and they shared experiences with me. I glanced at my sister, who smiled reassuringly, then at the girl who began the deconstruction of my wall with her blunt questioning. She nodded and lifted her glass to me. The remainder of the brunch was a series of supportive words and comforting connections. I had come to this party with the reluctance of one afraid to be seen. A grieving woman with no outlet but herself. And now, I enjoyed the party as someone that felt equal, as a forgotten mom, a grieving woman; as a Mother.