Mother's Day

Saturday was the nine month anniversary of Zach's passing. It's still so hard to believe that he's been gone that long. So much has happened in 9 months... I think of all that he's missed and I get angry. Holidays and special events are especially hard. Those are the days when no matter how good at denial you are, you just can't avoid the pain. I don't even need a calendar to remind me. It's like I wake up knowing that certain days are just going to suck worse than others. 
Like Mother's Day... As most of you know, I did not give birth to Zachary. I entered into a committed relationship with his father when he was 4 years old (and I was 19) and we became an instant family. Right from day one, I knew he was mine. We had an immediate and strong bond that was undeniable. I never expected to have a family. To the best of my knowledge, that is something that was never going to be in the cards for me. I was fine with that. I didn't think I ever wanted to be a mom. Then I met Zach. And more than anything in the world, I wanted to be his mom. And as it turned out, he needed one, so it was meant to be. I stayed home full time with him for almost 3 years. I taught him to read, write, tie his shoes and more. Once he was in school all day, I took a part time job that allowed me to take and pick him up from the bus each day, and the freedom to request days off to volunteer in his classroom and attend field trips. I packed lunches, helped with homework, was the bad guy that made him clean his room and eat his vegetables, got up with him at night when he was sick, and so on. Once he was old enough to stay home for a few hours, I went to work full time. But I still volunteered in his classes and attended all field trips, plays, concerts and games. That was important to me. He was my son, and I didn't want to miss anything. We did so much together. We even attended the Mother/Son Dance every single year, until the cut off age. I loved him with every ounce of my being. I still do. I may not have given birth to him, but he was my son in every other way imaginable. He was the child I was meant to have. He was my gift. And each year on Mother's Day, he made sure to tell me what that meant to him. From the time he was very small, he did something special for me on that day. Even before anyone else accepted it, he always showed me how important I was to him. And that meant more than anything. From handmade cards and gifts, to the later years when he bought me things with his own money. They all meant the world to me. It was the one day of the year that I most questioned my motherhood. And it was a day that without even knowing it, he assuaged my fears. He made me feel important and special to him. He made all the sleepless nights, doubts and fears disappear, and just made me feel like a normal mom. His mom. The best title in the world. And he made me realize that I didn't just want to be A mom, I wanted to be HIS mom, and not only did he need me, but I needed him just as much. 
Now Mother's Day is just a few days away, and every time I turn on the TV, radio or computer, I am bombarded with reminders. Reminders that I am no longer a mom. Reminders that my son is gone. Reminders that he no longer needs me, but that I need him more than ever. 
I am dreading Sunday... If I could take a pill and sleep through the entire day, I would. But unfortunately, that isn't an option. 
I miss my son. The pain is indescribable and immeasurable. And while the rest of the world is celebrating their children and motherhood, I'll be grieving the loss of both.... 

                                  My Boy Child and I, years ago.