Mother’s Day Weekend is tough for so many.
Sons and daughters have lost moms and grandmothers. Mothers and grandmothers have lost children and grandchildren. Many long for the day they will become a mother, growing weary with each passing month.
Some live with what-ifs and regrets after terminating a pregnancy and others wonder daily what their adopted child is doing. Others love with gratitude on the children not birthed in their womb, but their heart as they celebrate gotcha days and birthdays. Some planned motherhood with their partner and it was an easy joyful experience from the creating process. Some planned and desired to be moms and it was a struggle to make happen, while others have nightmares about forced circumstances when conception took place and many delivered all alone with no hand to hold.
There are married moms, single moms, widowed moms, expecting moms, kids being loved on by two moms, kids never knowing or calling the name of even one mother.
Mother’s Day comes with a bag of mixed ones for me. I definitely celebrate MY mom, that part is easy. I continue to grieve the deep loss that hit when my Granny left this world.
When it comes to me as a mom… I love my son and I adore getting to be his mom. I wouldn’t change that for anything. It is also the hardest role I’ve ever been given. It remains difficult at times to reconcile having the person I love more than anything or anybody in the whole world, who makes the very air I breathe sweeter with the scary, painful way his little life was created. To look at his face and see love, joy, wonder and wisdom, a true miracle, and catch glimpses of the parts of him that aren’t me. It can stop me in my tracks.
I’m fortunate (and challenged) that he is so much like me, I say with confidence the only thing he really got from the “other person” was the fact that he is male. Sometimes it’s enough. And sometimes I shake my fists at the sky in anger of the memories I live with. How a God who is supposed to be so loving could let such horrific things happen? Some nights the more I question the more I want to give up. And, some nights I put the questions aside and find peace in the unknowing.
We don’t go to church on Mother’s Day and haven’t for years. (Maybe twice in 18 years). It was too hard after my Granny’s passing to be confronted with sad songs and mom memories or carnations that personally reminded me of far too frequently visited funeral homes.
Highlighting motherhood can be a painful reminder that I’m doing this alone, and a gut wrenching grief of those I’ve lost. It’s complicated.
Since my son was asked to draw a picture of him and his dad we have only been back once on Father’s Day. (unfortunately, THAT Father’s Day, he was asked on camera to answer questions about what was special about his dad and when he responded he didn’t have one, was asked to just think about someone else and answer them. I carried him away crying that morning. He felt misunderstood, rejected, hurt and alone. I felt that with him. We may never go back. There’s no blame, it just is what it is.
As you post pictures with your moms, I hope you breathe in gratitude for the joyful memories and breathe out a prayer for those who will be aching through various circumstances and feelings this weekend. As you celebrate moms I hope you are sensitive to those for whom Mother’s Day is incredibly painful. There’s room for both, I hope.