Mother's Day was celebrated in our house in a hush.
D sidled up next to me at some point, put one arm around me and said in a whisper, "Happy Mother's Day mommy."
E went to the cemetery and did homework.
M pretended like it was any other day and went to her soccer game and a birthday party. The distraction for her was a blessing.
We gave presents to the grandmothers and celebrated my brother-in-law's 25th birthday with a pizza dinner at the in-laws.
After all the kids went to bed, K gave me a few gifts that he and D had gone out and gotten at the last minute. The four little kids did give me cards on Friday at Mother's Day festivities at school which were sweet.
Mommy is a word that has taken an entire new role in our house. My boys are so sensitive to what the girls have lost that they constantly tip-toe around showing any effusive affection towards me in front of the girls on days like Sunday.
In my head and my heart I have five children. Strangely, three have a mommy and two don't. I don't ever expect the girls to see me as their mom. They had a wonderful mother and I would never, ever try to replace her. Being part of our family, though, creates a dynamic where their lack of a mother (and father) puts weird strains on the rest of us trying to be sensitive to their feelings, but at the same time wanting to fiercely cling to each other.
For most families, Sunday was a day where their kids (and husbands) pause and express their gratitude and love. I know my kids (all five of them) love me. I don't need a special day to let me know that. Days like Sunday make us all hurt a little more rather than cause a moment of celebration. Days like Sunday highlight what has been lost and that's a heavy thing for the kids to have to deal with.