April 3, 2011

Empty arms on Mother’s Day.

Filed under: Writing — by badluckfairy @ 20:10

Jane had always felt it cruel, the way other Mothers strutted around brandishing their designer prams and Gucci change bags.

The fact that little Veronica or Lucas were pointed at anyone who vaguely looked like they would stop for a split second and give a damn about the snot covered creature, or even congratulate the delirious woman thrusting her ugly infant out for the world to admire made her feel positively nauseous

Yes, Jane was a Mother too.  But her arms were empty and had been since the first moment her baby had been placed in the beautiful blue moses basket.

She was neither cruel or incapable of looking after a baby, in fact most people commented that she would make a wonderful Mother, when it was her turn.

They didn’t forgive Jane’s angry tears when she felt like she could hold back no longer.

It had been her turn, it was her turn.  If she could change one thing, it would be to be able to hold her beautiful baby boy, see his eyes open in recognition as she gently spoke to him.

She wouldn’t take him to a public place and show him off as if he were the latest pair of ‘must have’ Manolo’s.

She wouldn’t need anyone to congratulate her or tell her how marvelously gorgeous her child was.

All Jane needed was him, to hold him, to smell that lovely baby smell and have the hole in her heart mended.

To be able to kiss his sweet forehead every night and whisper goodnight before she settled content into her own bed.

Instead she found herself full of pent up anger and sadness whenever she saw another woman with a baby.  Sometimes she could see how much the woman loved her own little cherub and that brought bitter sweet tears that pricked the back of her eyes and prompted her to flee.

Today Jane had a goal to work towards.  It was her son’s first birthday.

She felt fleeting moments of joy as she bought blue helium filled balloons, a new teddy bear and a toy car.  She wanted to spend as much time with her little angel as possible.

How cruel is it that for her she will have no smiles beaming, no little hands reaching up to be held?

As Jane approaches her angel she manages to hold back the tears as she sing-songs ‘Happy Birthday’ before gracefully sitting down for a moment of silence.

Then for what seems like the millionth time, she reads the words in front of her as if to remind herself that this is reality.

‘Always loved, never forgotten.  Jack, born sleeping’.



  1. A very touching story and beautifully written. I know many people who could relate to this.

    Comment by usaukwoods — April 3, 2011 @ 20:14 |Reply

    • Thankyou very much for your comment. I don’t really plan anything I’m going to write, I kind of sit and stew about it. And if I’m lucky, my thoughts seem to fall out of my head onto paper or onto my screen.
      So for me, to get a lovely comment for one of my random ‘thought spills’ as I seem to be callin them, is one of the highest compliments anyone can give me.

      Comment by badluckfairy — April 3, 2011 @ 20:27 |Reply

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