*I’ve been debating whether or not to post this all week. I decided to go ahead with hope that this will help someone… and trust that my friends/family/readers realize this is not a pity party.
Sometimes it just stings.
Yesterday (Mother’s Day) was a hard day for me. And not because I can’t/don’t have babies (although my heart breaks for my friends who are going through this) or because I don’t know wonderful mothers or because I had some horrible relationship with my mom. In fact, I had a wonderful Mr.Mom who learned to french braid hair, play with Barbies, and actively learned about ‘girl’ life just so I could have as normal upbringing as possible. I have 2 phenomenal grandmothers who helped take care of me and walked along side my Daddy to help raise me. I have an Aunt who will go out of her way to make me feel special and catered to. There were mother’s of friends, “aunts”, and a nanny who all treated me like family, even though no blood is shared. I’ve also got the best mother-in-law a girl could hope for. I am thankful for each of them and the impact they’ve had on my life.
it is an ugly but…
and it is a but that I will battle the rest of my life…
I love this photo. I love that expression.
I feel the sting. The sting only death can leave on a person. It’s one of those things. A flood of emotion that slugs you in the gut and is just plain hard. Mother’s Day does not make me unhappy. I don’t write this out of bitterness or anger, or to take away from other’s wonderful days. I’m just sore. Stung, sore, and raw. Like a fresh wound. I’ve found that grief ebbs and flows, and this is a time when it flows. Jealousy creeps. There is the hole in my life, a hole that is reserved for MY mother. For OUR relationship. The longing for a relationship strong and secure, similar to the one I have with my Dad, but different because it would be with my mother. I replay stories and photographs in my mind. Stories other people have told me, because I really don’t remember. Pictures I have seen and committed to memory. A tear or two fall. Then I look in the mirror. Something about looking in the mirror makes me feel comfort, closer to her. I look like her, and that is something we share. She was physically beautiful, and I’m glad I got a little bit of that beauty! She also had a beautiful character and is fondly remembered. I’m thankful every time someone tells me I remind them of her. Whether I do something just like her or say something just like her or my mannerisms are just like her. I’m thankful for these notable similarities because it is another dot that connects me to her. Another thing to help give shape to the void. I trust that she would be proud, because they tell me she would be. They know because they remember. While I miss her terribly and wish I could bring her a humongous bouquet of peonies and a Val’s pizza for dinner, instead I must cling to the promises of the cross. The promise that Christ has indeed defeated sin. That she isn’t experiencing any sadness or pain or consequence of sin — rather she is dancing with joy. She is home. That one day I will go home, too. We will be together and worship Him. And that will be a fabulous day friends. A day I anticipate.
This week also marks the week my parents would have celebrated their anniversary. I’m so thankful she had such fantastic taste. She knew he would be terrific father… even if he doubted. She did well!
Some comfort from Hebrews 12:
Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, 2 looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.