Mother's Day 2014

      After receiving breakfast in bed including the first strawberry from our patch, I was quickly shoved out of a bed that Mike and I no longer fit in with this expanding family. To say that my heart swelled is an understatement. It feels that I have one of these moments almost once a day lately. Purely grateful for what I have been given. But I must be honest and say that immediately following this feeling of joy comes either the deepest sorrow over the son that is missing in these frames or the overwhelming guilt over feeling so fulfilled despite his absence. It has been five years since Zachary died and for any mother looking for solace in this post I must apologize for you may not find it. I miss him. I cry for him. I feel incomplete as a mother during this day despite the countless bombardments from church, consumerism, and television telling me otherwise. 

   Losing Zachary is like a disease that has no cure. No. It is more like an amputation that has a constant recurrence. Some moments I am learning to walk again with an emotional prosthetic. One I can feel is clearly foreign but tolerable when suddenly out of nowhere something will happen to bring back the pain all over again. And as I sit there waiting for the spiritual Morphine to kick in I am overwhelmed with anger, sadness, or despair. I never know what will trigger it or when to expect it. But when it comes it comes with a vengeance and the only person who understands this is my husband who can look over at me and squeeze my hand, or wipe my tears. Sometimes he cries too or simply mouths the word "Zach" to me to let me know he understands. 

     But I thank Heavenly Father for giving me these beautiful children to watch over. If it wasn't for them I feel that I might just have floated away after Zach died. Golden and Eva were the anchors that kept me tethered to this world for I surely wanted to jump into that cold Winter's grave after him; first,  out of guilt I got up and began to care for them but after awhile I learned to love being a mother again. I stopped feeling like I abandoned Zachary and concentrated more on the living. This is not to say that these feelings don't creep back in every now and then just that I am learning to cope with them better.

     It was not easy getting pregnant after Zachary died and again I found myself feeling like a failure. Not only had I been unable to keep Zach safe but I couldn't give Mike another child to complete this incomplete chapter of our life. There seemed there was no happy ending destined for us. But luckily with the triplets I had not just a good pregnancy, I had the pregnancy of epic proportions. I worked until my due date and they came home with us. But those months were filled with countless tears. Would I lose one or all of them? Was I having a miscarriage or was the spotting normal? Thinking "when" not "if" something was going to go wrong. That is the true suffering of losing a child; you lose that ability to be carefree. You lose hope. Why wouldn't something go wrong? 

Nico's first feed by Eva 5mos

     But losing a child has given me the humbling ability to not only grow closer to my Savior but it has helped me understand just how great was His sacrifice of giving his first born son to a world that would eventually torture and kill him. He knows my sorrow and has made it His goal to show me increased love and understanding because of it. He has allowed me to mother so many beautiful children and promises me I will see Zachary again. But even with all of this I find myself sad because I miss him. I am selfish and want him to share in these silly moments we cherish here on earth that make us laugh and cry. 

    For example, each Mother's Day my beautiful daughter prepares for me the most splendid gifts. A card, a piece of art, or this year, a poem. She is amazing and each gift warms my heart like she will only understand when she becomes a mother herself.

Eva's gift

     

     Golden, on the other hand, seems to always be surprised when Mother's day rolls around. It has become a fun time here at the Harris house on a Saturday night when I turn to him and nonchalantly say, "Hey Golden, I know I am going to love your gift the most this year." This is where Golden looks at me with a blank face and says something like, "Gift?" I pretend to be so excited and say, "Yeah, my Mother's day gift that your gonna give me….Tomorrow!" Golden has the best cartoon like surprise face you ever want to see. I especially love the beads of sweat that gather at his temple at this point. But it is all in jest because Golden is simply not a touchy, feely kind of dude.  So you could imagine my surprise when Sunday evening Golden asks me, "So is it time for me to give you your gift yet?" 

    Mike and I gave each other a quick, "Do you know what he's talking about?" look and shrugged. "Sure it's time Golden. Let's have it." He quickly ran to his room and returned with two things. One was a plastic heart that said Happy Mother's Day. This heart he took from a chocolate chip cookie cake I bought myself on Friday. The second thing was a 3x5 index card with his chicken scratch writing on the front. Here it is below.

For those not familiar with these hieroglyphics it spells out "I love you with all my heart -Golden Harris" I don't need to tell you that I was rocked to my core with love for this child and then and there understood the parable of the prodigal son. Here I have a perfect daughter full of love, intelligence and beauty that strives to love me perfectly every day. I could not be happier but Golden's waters run deep and most days he slithers in and out of his room into the car and is lucky to put two words together in his responses to me. But what my son has always been is honest to a fault and that is why this card just broke me. He loves me. I am a good mother. How Zach would have loved this moment. And what would he have made me?

     I suppose that is life for most people. An ebb and flow of happiness and sadness creating a beautiful tapestry that is as individual as the grains of sand in the ocean. I usually don't allow myself to indulge in the sadness over losing Zach except on his birthday and Mother's Day but even then it is so hard because life has a terrible way of moving forward even when you are not ready. Forever, I will be stumped as to how best to answer the simple question of, "How many kids do you have?" or "Are these all of your boys?" If I say seven children and explain things I have to face that expression of uncomfortableness from the individual. If I say six, I feel a tremendous feeling of self loathing over not acknowledging him. There will be activities and work that needs to get done on his birthday and I am left feeling guilty for not spending my entire day thinking of him. So instead, I will find myself unable to hold back tears when I am alone and lying out in the sun on a beautiful day by the ocean. I can not schedule this mourning and will just let anyone know this. There is no right amount of time to "just get over it." Or if there is, I haven't reached it yet. But today I am grateful for my children, both living and deceased, and for my husband. All of whom I will be with eternally one day. Just not today.