Mother's Day

Mother's Day this year was a first. It was the first holiday following Adam's death where I really had to ask myself what to do. Should I send a card to Janet? What should it say? Is it inappropriate to get a gift? If I do get a gift, what in the world should it be? If I focus the day on Adam, am I overlooking the fact that she has two other sons and two stepdaughters? Is that a bad thing, or is that how it should be this year? Does Janet even feel like acknowledging the day at all?

This holiday is only the first that will be difficult, even awkward, over the next year. As much as I hate to admit it, in some ways I dread the thought of heading home for the holidays. The weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas will be unbearable. As if getting through the season of joy and merriment wouldn't be enough, Adam's birthday is December 16.

I tried to find the right Mother's Day card, but none of them were right. Most of them fell along the lines of "take the day to relax and do something for yourself," and they all wished a happy and restful day. I knew Mother's Day would be anything but that for Janet. And a gift. . . I didn't know if I should get one or not, and I couldn't begin to figure out what kind of gift might be the right one. Then I came across information about Little Windows in Real Simple magazine. Making a necklace with Adam's picture--something to honor Adam's memory that Janet could keep close to her--seemed like the obvious thing to do.

I ordered a kit to make a necklace. Like most craft kits, it's one of those things that should be easy but always proves to be difficult. Dan and I had to go to four different places before we could find a place to have a photo scanned into a digital format. We had trouble getting the photo to print after it had been formatted to the right size. I was battling constantly to keep bubbles from forming on the photo before the resin hardened, and as I began to make a hole in the resin for insertion of the necklace wire, the very tiny drill that came with the kit broke off at the end. The wire was flimsy and nearly impossible to get through the hole, and twisting it to make a loop for the necklace was not as easy as it should have been.

And the whole time, I was panicked. So much that, at one point, I burst into tears (right after the drill broke). Because the necklace is the only thing I could think of to do to help make it better. It was the only way I knew to show Janet that I even vaguely understood how hard the day was for her. Because it was one of the last means I have left to help keep Adam's memory alive. Because the truth is, the memory of him gets harder to hold onto every day.

With Dan's help, I finished the necklace, and it turned out beautifully. Janet called me today to let me know how much it means to her. But I know it's not enough. Nothing will ever be enough. And sometimes I don't feel like anything--even time--will ever make it better for her. And I don't know what to do with that. I've sent cards, I've framed photos, I've made donations for memorials, I've made a necklace. I'm out of things to do. And there are still so many more holidays to go.