It's That Time of Year Again

**Trigger Alert***
Easter. One of the only holidays without a set date. Sometimes it is in March, other times it comes in April. Whichever time it comes, it is a huge trigger for me.

Since this time of year is so hard, I will limit myself to one event a night. My mom and I have an interesting relationship. She has gone through her own rough times in her life and I respect that. Hell, we all have.

The problem that I have, is that she has put her rough times onto me. That is not cool. One question that most people who are starting to get to know one another ask is how many brothers or sisters do you have? I never seem to know how to answer that question.

For anyone who did not go through my childhood, the answer would be clear: ZERO. However, I grew up with parents who lost two children. They were stillborn. To digress, my parents were and are Catholic. Catholic’s bury their dead, well, at least everyone that I know of in my family.

So anyway, both of the children that my mom lost were born in the spring and inevitably, Easter fell on one of their birthdays. Back to the whole burial thing. My parents did not bury the children that they lost, they gave them up for research and told the hospital to “dispose” of them.

Even the thought of that is revolting and after having three of my own children it has become even more so. Every spring, especially around the holidays I get to hear the story of the children that were lost. How old they would be, what they would be doing, how they would act. Who can compete or even live up to a ghost.

My mom would go as far as to tell me that she wished that they were here and I was not! Fun times right. I am an adult and this still haunts me. Part of it is that I need to deal with all of this and whatever emotions that I have stuffed with it in therapy. The other part is that I will hear the stories again this year. What they looked like, what happened on that day. After hearing the same stories for so long, I can visualize the room, the baby, and how they must have looked.

I wish that I could spend one spring without those memories. One spring where I could just be enough for my parents instead of having to compete with the ghosts of the perfect children.

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One thought on “It’s That Time of Year Again

  1. I know the feeling well. Not a day of time spent with my mom, before she died last year, went by without her telling me in no uncertain terms that she hated me and wished I’d never been born while at the same time demanding that I fulfill my biblical obligation to care for her as a parent. Not that she ever fulfilled her biblical obligations as a parent to care for me in any way shape or form. Sorry, this holiday is hard for me, too.

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