Or maybe my niggling fear that I won't gracefully handle it means things will go just fine.
Mother's Day isn't the issue.
Rather, it's that last year's May, which began so full of promise (holy moly, IVF "worked" after almost 5 years of constant failure!), ended so very badly. Without that May in the picture, I can imagine a life in which the devastation and isolation that marked the whole damned rest of the year — a late-June miscarriage; a suddenly in-crisis relationship; a November pregnancy that was shaky from the get-go; a Christmastime miscarriage; and the clear end to our family-building efforts — DID NOT HAPPEN.
I know, I know, May is not a person or a force, but that doesn't stop me from resenting it. In my mind it betrayed me, and I'm holding it responsible. All I'm asking of it, though, is to beat a path out of my sight this year. I want May 2009 over and done with so I can mutter into the 12:01-a.m., starry-night sky of June 1 . . .
"Screw you, Universe, I'm still here!"