Mother's Day is coming up. As it approaches, I am always reminded of my daughter, Freya, whose birthday is on May 18. I spend Mother's Day planning her birthday party, which is usually scheduled for the following weekend. (I am also reminded of how I almost died bringing her into this world, but that is a story for another day.)
This year, however, my husband and I decided that it would just be too much to organize and host a party for her, considering the circumstances. I was nervous bringing it up with Freya, because for the last few months she kept mentioning her birthday party wish-list: where she wanted to have it, who she wanted to invite, what kind of theme she wanted, etc. She likes birthday parties because she gets to spend quality time with ALL of her friends from her various groups, plus who doesn't like to get presents? I like birthday parties because they are fun to plan, and, quite honestly, I really enjoy watching all of these kids celebrating my daughter and making her feel special.
After all that she has been through - first when she was born and now with my cancer - if anyone deserves a party, it's Freya.
But now that it's May, and Mother's Day is fast approaching, people have been coming up to me, worried that they had lost the invitation to her supposedly upcoming 6th birthday party. And then there's the awkwardness of, "Oh, we're not having a party this year..." and these parents look at me with a mixture of pity and understanding. It's okay, I feel bad for me, too, on a selfish and superficial level.
So, yesterday I told Freya that we wouldn't be hosting a party for her. Before I could explain, she immediately said, "It's okay, Mommy. I don't want a party. You would be too tired to plan anything, plus you might not even be able to come if you're too sick." And I could see her lip quivering and she's wiping tears, because I know in her heart she's thinking of a missed opportunity to spend time with all of her friends and all of the presents she won't be getting. She can't help it, she's a little kid. Although, really, she's not missing out: we will spend her birthday weekend with family and close friends, so she'll be getting plenty of presents.
No one needs to feel sorry for my little girl.
But that night, after Freya was fast asleep, I thought about what she said and I couldn't stop myself from crying. It felt kind of silly, weeping in the middle of the night like that. The thing is, not being able to organize a party for Freya was just another reminder of how much this cancer has taken yet one more thing away from me. I know, I know, boohoo, I can't throw a lavish party for my daughter. First world problems.
It was more than that, though. The way Freya responded so immediately made me realize that not only had she been expecting me to tell her that she wouldn't be having a party, but she also had a little speech prepared for when I brought it up with her. She wasn't worried about missing out on some stupid party; she was worried about ME. She put her own desires aside for my sake.
People ask me all the time how Freya is handling this whole cancer ordeal. Well, here's the answer. Her level of maturity and selflessness continues to astound and amaze me. Sometimes I can't believe how easy she has made it for me to cope. I don't know how I got so lucky. I am so proud to be her mother, and even more proud that, as my first born, Freya is the reason I am a mother to begin with.
And I can't think of a more appropriate Mother's Day present this year.
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