I am a mother.
I am a daughter.
I am a mother who has lost her daughter and a daughter who has lost her mother.
There’s no Hallmark card for this.
How does one honor an experience of motherhood that is so far from the status quo? Where does this fit into the ‘gifts for Mom’ display?
And it won’t.
How do you acknowledge the messy handprint art we’ll never receive from Norah or the smile I wish I could see when handing Mom flowers, rather than laying them in the cemetery grass?
It’s a little much for a coffee mug.
My identity as a mother carries a vacation-worthy amount of baggage. (If anyone wants to chat with me about motherhood, I say, “Let’s grab coffee cuz this is gunna take a minute.”)
Even now, as I’m learning to mother a daughter in my arms I’m navigating a path where gratitude and grief walk hand-in-hand — where each time my heart explodes from watching Lora grow it leaves an even deeper ache for my girl in heaven.
Many of you carry a similar load. This day, along with many others, can be complicated and heavy in a way that this world struggles to acknowledge.
If this is you, I want you to know that you are seen. I want you to know that your story is important and valuable to this world. I pray that your experience is held with gentle hands (even if those hands are only yours) and honored in a way that allows your soul to catch its breath, even for a minute.
And for those supporting someone this Mother’s Day, acknowledge their pain.
Being truly seen is the most precious gift you can give.