Ten years ago we were headed to the Old Spaghetti Factory (a favorite of my mother-in-laws) to meet her for lunch on Mother’s Day. I’d been having contractions off and on for over 10 days, with my due date still over a week away. The contractions were frequent, but they had done that twice already, almost tricking me into a trip to the hospital. I did not want to be that person, so I ignored them. I was going to carb it up.
We had thrown the hospital bag into the car just in case, and I was very grateful for that forethought as about five minutes away from our destination we took a hard right away from the restaurant and to the hospital. Things went pretty smoothly once we got there and for the next several hours. I had wanted to labor naturally (mainly due to a high sensitivity to most drugs), and I rocked it out to 9cm. I spent about 3 hours at 9 cm, and my son refused to come out. At some point his cord slipped down and become stuck as well, and there was a very quickly dropping heart rate. Before I even knew it, a very scary lady with an even scarier needle was by my bedside and within 5 minutes I had a spinal block, was in the OR and my son was being surgically removed. He was blue. I waited for crying, while trying not to fall asleep as the drugs were already taking their effect…there was no crying. After a very long few minutes, I heard a gurgled cry. A few minutes later I held the boy who made me a mom a decade ago.
My first, very unexpected child, was born on Mother’s Day. I was 21 for 2 more days. We had been married 10 months. I gazed at him in shock and amazement before I had to hand him off to the doctor. A few minutes later I had my head in one of those plastic containers they seem to have everywhere in the hospital, maybe for just that reason. My head stayed in that plastic container for the remainder of that day (thanks to the drugs I had tried to avoid), and I remember very little of it. Stomach surgery, a surge of hormones and dry heaving were not the way I had planned on spending my first Mother’s Day.
Fast forward a few years and all the unexpected ease of how pregnancy occurred the first time must have worn off. Despite months of trying we weren’t able to get pregnant. We had moved away from friends and family, didn’t know a soul around us, couldn’t find a church, were struggling through some tough family situations and didn’t have two cents to rub together courtesy of the NE’s cost of living. Throw into that additional medical expenses thanks to several tests, and life felt really hard. I didn’t understand what God was doing. It had seemed like He wanted us to move, and yet it certainly didn’t feel like we were in the middle of His will. We had barely gotten the confirmation of life that spring before it was gone. Hard to celebrate being a mom when the life you were growing is gone.
Another boy later, and again baby making didn’t magically happen for us. A pastor of ours once told us that each of His kids happened on God’s time…when they weren’t trying or weren’t ready, they got pregnant; and when they tried and tried it never happened when wanted it. It seemed as though we were headed down a similar path. After over six months of trying again, at the beginning of May the test finally popped up positive, just about the same time a call came that my grandmother (who I talked to every week) had been rushed to the hospital and was in surgery. Then before I knew it, the call that she was gone. And on the drive up to the funeral, the baby was gone too. I think I sobbed most of that Mother’s Day. Just huddled in a ball trying to shut out the world around me.
The very next Mother’s Day, just over a month after my mother-in-laws passing, I watched my husband look through pictures of his mom, with tears streaming down his face. The one who had taught us so much about parenting and doing so sacrificially was gone, and to say we felt loss, lost and heartbroken was an understatement. It was as if all the prayers that she prayed over us every day and the peace they brought had vanished along with her and the darkness and coldness of the world felt heavy and oppressive now without her. A Mother’s Day without a mother.
This Mother’s Day will be spent waking up to a house full of boys from my sons birthday celebration sleepover. I’ll make chocolate chip pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream. Hopefully most everyone will rest that afternoon, then I will do hair and make-up for my daughters dance recital and we will applaud and shower her with flowers. It will be their day…which in some ways, is almost a relief. No pressure, no expectations, just a normal day. I’ll try not to think about the label for the day and it’s predecessors, or the ones missing from it. I’ll try not to think about the emptiness that lingers in your heart for the children that aren’t yours yet. Some people feel that through miscarriages, infertility, failed adoption, an in process adoption (our case this year), or foster care. It’s an awful ache that seems overwhelming at times. In it you have to fight for each ounce of joy, and hope and light and sometimes the fight feels like too much and it’s easier to just sink into darkness. I’ve felt that feeling lots of Mothers’ Days.
I’m guessing I’m not the only one.
I know there are lots of other women that have heartache around this time of year. Ones that pass the card aisle and feel their heart drop at the reminder of the impending holiday. Ones that don’t understand why the holiday exists due to their only mothering experience being one of hurt. Ones that ache for a title they aren’t sure if they’ll ever have, and ones that mourn for someone who was gone too soon.
For all the moms being celebrated, pampered, and showered with flowers, there will be just as many bravely facing this hard day. You might not be able to tell. When you pass them, you might not see the hurt, or the tears they cried earlier. They might smile and chit chat before going along their way. But they’re there.
Could we maybe not try to pretend it’s all ok this Mothers Day? Enough polite smiles and small talk. Can we celebrate and acknowledge and applaud the ones that are totally nailing this whole mom gig AND mourn with the ones whose heart is breaking? This mom role is THE hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’ve poured out more of myself than I knew I had to give. I see tons of moms doing the same thing, who I regularly want to applaud and high five…our children should rise up and call us blessed! This gig is NOT easy, and it certainly should be celebrated! But I also want to remember, that this day hasn’t always felt like a celebration. Many years, it’s felt like a reminder of failures, or hurts, of shortcomings, and of longings. I wish on the normal Mother’s Day years, that I could have given some of the celebration and encouragement to myself on the hard years.
While I can’t do that, I can try to share some celebration with those having hard years now. Maybe some flowers for those you know struggling with infertility, and thanking them for the way they are mothering so many despite not having the official title. Acknowledging the ache. A sweet note remembering your friends mother’s memory…it’s such a gift to speak of those who are gone from our lives and remember them. A confirmation to a friend that despite all the ways her mom missed the boat, she has not and has become an incredible mother, all without an example of how to do so. Let’s not leave our sisters alone to fight the hard battles.
As the church we rejoice with those that rejoice and mourn with those who mourn. This day should be no different, and maybe all the more necessary for us to be intentional about doing so.
Maybe it’s a Happy Mother’s Day for you, and maybe it’s not. Both are ok, and whichever place you find yourself in; I pray that the God of all comfort and peace would be near to you on this day. Whether that comfort and peace is in a sweet celebration or in tears.
