Numbers floating in my mind

I've told a lot of people during this whole crazy process that everything is suddenly seen in a different light when you're on the verge of mommyhood. Everyday activities become something you one day get to share with your baby. Memories are something you share, too, for better or for worse.

16 years ago today my mother passed away in a New Jersey hospital after hanging on, battling, fighting for so long. I wasn't there with her that day, but I remember every minute of that week so clearly.

May 26 has been a rollercoaster ride of a day every year for me. I see it approaching on the calendar and grimace, wishing another year without my mom wasn't about to be added to an already too-big of a number. When I wake up on this day, I never know what Wendy is going to face the day. Sometimes, she's a scared little 10-year-old girl again. Sometimes, she is mightier than all the gladiators in the history of the world and the day barely affects her.

I woke up today and thought I just wanted to hide under the covers. Then, the baby started kicking, as if to get me out of bed and out of a prospective funk. So I compromised, staying in bed for a few extra minutes and telling him some of my favorite memories about his grandmother.

Then, Baby Z and I got out of bed and are facing the day together. He makes me so much stronger than I ever thought I could be. I'm sure that will continue for many, many years.

But I was suddenly hit hard by a scary thought.
I've turned out OK for not growing up with my mom, and for having a sick mother for the years I did have her. But her loss is something I have always and will always feel. It's made me the person I am, for better or for worse. I have that power to impact the baby's life and make a difference in his world.

And as strong as I think I am now, I will promise to only be as strong as possible, to stay with him, fighting tooth and nail for every memory and moment we can share together. There are so many that my mother missed out on that I need to share with him.

And I need him to know what his grandmother -- with the blonde hair, the gray eyes and quiet, funny laugh -- was all about. And how much she loves him and wishes she could be here now.