I had planned to write a militant and angst-ridden post about how I was boycotting Mother's Day. About how it's hard for those of us who have had to pass our child into death's arms, and that it's still hard even if we are blessed with living children.
I was going to rant about how Hallmark hijacked what was meant as a day of healing and peace for mothers whose soldier sons were victims of war. About how it's unfair that this saccharine and commercially-driven day tries to force us to experience a belly full of warm fuzzies, and guilts us if we don't. If we can't.
But I am tired.
And while all of those things are still true for me, I'm not sure I have the energy to hoist a banner against Mother's Day and charge into the fray.
I feel deeply the cutting pain of questioned motherhood that too many women must endure. Anything that pours salt into the already raw wound of babyloss or infertility or failed adoption makes me intensely angry. It makes me want to do battle on the behalf of these fragile women nursing their too-invisible wounds.
But sometimes . . . sometimes I just don't have fight enough in me.
Sometimes I just want to rest on each day's myriad of sweet gifts and just be here now. With my amazing husband and sweet son, breathing deep and soaking in every. single. moment.
So I will. So I am.
And although I'm not sure I will be raising my militant flag this year, I would like to say offer these few words to those whose heartache throbs a little deeper this time of the year --
Mother's Day hurts when your mother has hurt you.
Mother's Day hurts when your own motherhood hurts you.
Mother's Day hurts when your mother is missing.
Mother's Day hurts when your child is missing.
If Mother's Day hurts you, please know: it is okay that it hurts. It does not mean that you are broken, only that you are alive and healing from a deep wound. You are not alone.
May your weekend be surprisingly peaceful and joyous, my friends. You are precious and beautiful and so very valuable. And do remember -- you are a mother if your heart says you are, no matter how many children you have to clasp close this year.