A Sweetheart's Survival Story

My mom gave me this Valentine’s Day bear when I was 16. Now, 16 years later, I still have this bear in my current home. He has traveled with me to every home and circumstance of my life.

My mom didn’t just know how to give love. She was love. This is likely why she loved Valentine’s Day so much. My mom called me her “sweetheart” so Valentine’s Day was a special holiday for us. Throughout my life, she always surprised me with little gifts. At the age of 16, I was going through a lot of things that I didn’t understand at the time. I was moody. I self-sabotaged. I obsessed over a number on a scale and I allowed that number to determine my worth. I withered down to sizes smaller than what looked healthy on my body, just to prove to myself that I could. The smaller I got, the more successful I felt. I felt pride in my baggy clothes and as my body got smaller, so did how I saw myself. I purposely jeopardized the relationships around me just to prove to everyone else what I saw in myself - nothing.

The text message I sent my mom last year on Valentine’s Day.

But the further I pushed my mom away, the stronger she held her grip. She stood nearby while I spiraled (for many years after this too), allowing me to learn these lessons on my own but also within reach to catch me if I fell too far. So, at 16, when Valentine’s Day rolled around, you can imagine the type of teenager I was dealing with my own sh*t.

”We accept the love we think we deserve” is a quote that sums up this phase of my life wonderfully. But my mom did not care about that. She was going to give it to me anyway, regardless if I accepted it or not. So after school on February 13, 2004, the day before Valentine’s Day, I came home to a giant stuffed bear with a huge heart on its chest. At some point, we named him Fred. Fred followed me to every dorm room and apartment I ever lived in, and now lives with Henry and I in our first house. Every year, on Valentine’s Day, I’d send my mom a text saying “Happy Valentine’s Day” with a picture of Fred. Some years, I’d send her flowers.

Valentine’s Day holds a special place in my heart but not because of the Hallmark version of this holiday. It’s because it reminds me of my mom who always gave the kind of unconditional love every person deserves, regardless of how they viewed themselves or the turmoil they may be in. I even wrote an article about this (and Fred) in The Fishtown Spirit in 2009. My mom was so proud of that article and told me it was the best writing I had ever done. Why? Because it was from the heart. I’m pretty sure she took every copy. As you can imagine, I’ve held Fred a lot over the past 10 months, wanting and desperately wishing for my mom to come through to me through him, hoping that that bear’s huge heart would begin to beat again just like my mom’s huge heart once did.

Mom, I wish you were here so I could thank you again for loving me even when I didn’t love myself. I wish I could send you a picture of Fred (who has really held up over the years!) Most of the time, I know you’re next to me but when I realize that physically, I’ll never hug you again or hear your wisdom or laugh with you or dance with you, it causes me to lose my breath. I forget how to breath without you in my life. But the one thing I know I’ll never forget how to do is love. And I don’t mean the type of superficial love that falls on the surface. I mean a deep, unconditional love that can only be felt from the depths of our hearts we never knew existed. I mean the love we give to strangers, simply because they are human. Thank you, Mom, for not only showing me the true meaning of love, but for being love. For being the love that lights up the awfully dark tunnel that is grief, and sadness, and depression, and even infertility. It is because of that love that I’m still here, fighting.

I love you infinity, Mom.

Love,
Your sweetheart