Nothing, except everything.

Yesterday, May 5th, the grief hit me out of nowhere, yet not entirely unexpectedly.         We loved turning nothing into something, any excuse into a celebration. Take Cinco de Mayo, for instance. Not Mexican Independence Day 🇲🇽 and not a widely celebrated holiday in Mexico, but after nearly 30 years living in the United States, I’ve embraced it fully: parties, gatherings, all of it… even our kids call it Cinco de Drinko. Thank you for not judging my parenting here.

Tuesday was a beautiful day in the nation’s capital. Sunny, warm, breezy, finally… after a never-ending winter. As I picked up our daughter from school, I said, “Hey! I was thinking of making something special for Cinco de Mayo, you know?” 🫔🌯🌮
“I want Chick-fil-A 🐥🐮,” she replied… wah, wah, wah 🎺.

Well, there goes my festive spirit.

As I walked past a popular Mexican restaurant, buzzing with people eating, laughing, sitting out on the patio, on our way to get chicken nuggets, fries, and a milkshake, I felt the sting. We would have been there, the four of us, like so many other years. Celebrating just because we could. Because we had an excuse. Because it was a beautiful day.

I came home and made one of my favorite Mexican dishes: chilaquiles for one 🙋🏻‍♀️. I sat by myself, eating while watching a Netflix documentary on my phone. Pathetic? Maybe. Sad? Yes, very. But I’m choosing to count it as a win. Just gathering the energy to make the dish… you know how hard that can be when you’re feeling the weight of loss, the absence, the grief.

I thought Cinco de Mayo was never that serious. I guess it was.

Let’s talk about Mother’s Day 💐

I wasn’t prepared for the first Mother’s Day without him. It hit me really hard. I kept thinking about how my husband used to joke, “You’re not my mother, why do I have to get you a gift?” and the playful banter that would follow. Without that, everything felt off. Lonely. Unbalanced. My kids didn’t have the person who would take them shopping or guide them in making a homemade card, my favorite kind of gift. Our daughter kept saying she wanted to get me something but didn’t know how. It broke my heart. My mom lives in Mexico, so I never get to celebrate with her either. That breaks my heart every year, too.

To top it off, that first Mother’s Day I fell in a gravel alley on our way to church, scraped my knee open, and just kept going. It hurt like a mother$%@$* -pun intended!- but I was determined to have a good day, out and about. At church, I asked for the first aid kit, patched myself up, and kept moving.

We went to one of my favorite Mexican restaurants for brunch. Asking for a table for three hurt. Sitting with an empty seat felt cruel. It still does. After brunch, ice cream. Then back home to clean the wound and maybe take a nap.

I don’t remember much about last year, except that Mother’s Day brought the grief out in all of us. I gave both our daughter and son a card so they could write something for me. Teenage son lost it.
“Why are you doing this? Can’t you wait until I do it on my own? I now feel like I have trauma about Mother’s Day too!”

…Fuck me!!! I thought.

We talked. We cried. We made up. Maybe I was just trying to fill the void.

This year?

Let’s just say I’m not really looking forward to it. I want to be surrounded by lots of people, maybe to mute his absence that feels so loud at times, but everyone else will be with their families, as they should be.

Still, perhaps life, God, the universe… will surprise me, us with an okay day.

Or, dare I dream, a great one.

If you’re a widowed mom, I’m thinking of you.

If you lost the chance to become a parent because your person died, I’m thinking of you.

If you’re missing the mother of your children, I’m thinking of you.

If you lost your mom or a mother figure, I’m thinking of you.

If your relationship with your mom was complicated, I’m thinking of you.

However this day finds you -full, empty, somewhere in between- I’m holding space for you. Days like these the grief can come back with a vengeance and without notice. It can feel so very isolating.

Just know you’re not alone in it.

Hasta la próxima! Until next week Peace.