Mother’s Day

Just this morning, as I talked with a mom who was aching in her heart and soul over a relationship struggle with her child, I said,
“If Hallmark only knew what trouble they are really giving so many women, they’d feel sorry.”
Mother’s Day brings up a smorgasbord of emotions for so many people.
A friend of mine posted this simple picture today and it spoke volumes.

I haven’t been on all ends of the spectrum. And I thank God that I haven’t. We live in a society that though there are real troubles, losses, and trials, we often see those trying to one up themselves over who has had it worse.

Can we just stop?

What I tell my friends so often when they would start to talk about stress or a struggle and then catch themselves in comparison to our loss, I would simply remind them that stress is stress. Loss is loss. You cannot compare one and one because no two are the same. What you need to look at is that someone is hurting and what can we supply as a comfort or help to them.

So to the woman that dreads Mother’s Day because of the opening of wounds, I say:

I am sorry.

To the one that spends her first, fifth, or fifteenth Mother’s Day without her own Mother, I cannot imagine the emotions that you feel. My heart aches for you and I only wish I could steal away all the sadness. But I am so very thankful that you had such a beautiful, amazing mother to miss. I am thankful that you can cherish what you had and hope for a reuniting one day.

To the one that never had that mother who would step in and brush your hair, feed you breakfast, and listen to your latest woes about boys, my heart sinks down low as I see that you are feeling lost today.  It may not be fair or right that you had to do this all on your own without a mother to guide and teach you the right way, but I can see in you the strength and will to get it right without her. You have already overcome so much. Keep going.
To the one who sits with empty arms, longing for them to be full, I sit beside you and listen. I hear your heavy breathing as you hold back the tears, almost ashamed of your jealousy and pain. I hear your inward cries and questions, asking why you have yet to be called the one name in the world you desire most, “Mommy.” I also hear you rise, as you put on a smile and pretend everything is alright.  It is not alright, and there is no reason to hide the fact that you only wish to share love with another in the grandest of ways. I am so blessed to be beside one that has so much love to give.

To the one who has the strained relationship with their child and never thought they would be sitting this day alone, I grieve with you. It truly is a loss and no matter what the circumstances or whose fault, the empty chair is a visual reminder of who is not there for you now. I pray for restoration and reunion. I hope for change and compassion. I ache for unity once more. No matter if that comes now, later, or never, I am grateful that you still love, despite the hurt.

To the one who has held that child for a moment or for years and now they are gone, I weep deeply with you. I know you wish that you could have been the one to go first a thousand times over. I know it is so much harder now than it ever was before. And I know that no Mother’s Day will ever be the same. There are no words to comfort, but I will sit with you in this valley, waiting for tomorrow when it gets a little better.

It seems that some of the deepest emotions the human race can face rise up on the second Sunday of May.
Thankfulness.
Joy.
Loneliness.
Heartache.
Grief.

I have no words of wisdom to make it better. Nothing I can say will ease your discomfort. I simply wanted you to know that you are not alone. You are in the trenches with others who fight this battle daily. Today, I help hold up your musket so you can catch your breath and have a moment. And tomorrow, I know you will be there to hold mind.