Happy Mother’s Day. I know you don’t like material gifts, so I thought you would rather have a letter. I don’t know how to start it, except to say that on this Mother’s Day I want you to know how much I appreciate you as my mom and want to let you in to my world.
When we told you we were moving to New Zealand, you were so happy for us. We Skyped often and I was my usual bubbly self, talking fast about all the things we were doing and going to do. I told you everything that was going on in my life. Our first 6 months in New Zealand were great and we felt like we were on top of the world. Then we decided we were ready to have a baby.
I was so excited to fly the nest and do this on my own. I’ve always been very independent and thought this would be the ultimate experience for Will and I to have alone. I didn’t need my mom to be there in the hospital and to help me through my first few weeks of motherhood. I was tough, I would do it all with a smile on my face. You would come visit when the baby was 2 or 3 months old and be amazed at what a good mother I was. The baby was so cute and well behaved. The house was clean and I looked great. I had everything planned out.
We told everyone we weren’t going to start “trying” until we moved back from New Zealand, so we were so excited at the thought of surprising everyone with the news that we were going to have a baby in New Zealand. Will and I had thought that when we came home in April, we’d be announcing that we were pregnant. I was so upset that the timing was off, and we’d probably have to tell you over Skype when it happened. But it just kept not happening.
As the months passed by, as a year passed by, and now as 18 months pass by, there are so many emotions. I didn’t feel like myself. I’ve never been anything but self-assured and happy before. I was sad, anxious, jealous, hopeful, hopeless, excited and nervous. I didn’t know how to deal with myself so I retreated inward. I stopped talking to you, I was awkward when we did talk and just didn’t like life. I know you noticed. You tried to help by telling me encouraging things, but that is just not what I wanted to hear at the time. I don’t know how to talk about how I feel when I talk to you; it just feels weird. There was nothing you could do to make me better. You couldn’t solve my problems.
I’m sorry that my crappy luck has affected you. I’m sorry you’ve lost the daughter who always made you smile for a year and a half. I’m sorry I avoided you. I’m sorry things haven’t worked out as planned. You should be a grandma again by now.
I really hope that soon you’ll get your daughter back. I’m trying really hard to feel like “me” again, but it is not easy. I’m able to fake it sometimes, but usually I just feel phony. So thank you for understanding that this has been the hardest period of my life and the ride is not over yet. I hope you enjoy reading my blog and can get an insider’s view to how I am and what is going on without me having to talk about it. It’s a win-win.