Holidays are hard. Hallmark has made them impossible to ignore, but for many people, weekends like this one are full of family drama, bad memories, and loneliness. I feel so blessed to get to celebrate my first Mother's Day as a mom this year, but I vividly remember how I spent the last few Mother's Days, wishing I could just curl up in a hole until they were over. Last year, we had already moved through much of the adoption process, but the desire to be a mom was more real than ever, and there was still so much fear that our situation might fall through.
Facebook doesn't help. Every post about pregnancies or celebrating a first Mother's Day was like a knife being stabbed further into my heart. In some ways, I was killing my own joy. I could have turned off the computer, but there's something weirdly addictive about pain, isn't there? I guess a part of me wanted to stay mad and to hate people who had what I didn't. Looking back on all of that now, I wish I would have been more satisfied and less resentful. I didn't have control of my circumstances, but I was allowing my circumstances to have entirely too much control over me.
While it is true that bitterness eats away at your soul, it is also true that even the people who have legitimately mastered the art of contentment feel lonely and discouraged at times. That's part of being human. My church, friends, and family have always been very supportive of and sensitive to hurting people, but I know that that is not the case everywhere. Our culture has a way of making people who are not married or do not have children feel somehow less important. Hear me say that wherever you are in life, you are valuable. And if you're reading this and dreading going to that Mother's Day gathering (or Christmas feast or whatever) because you know that it will reopen fresh wounds, give yourself the grace not to go. That really is a choice. People might not understand your decision, but I promise that they aren't nearly as worried about it as you are. They'll forgive you.
Although I'm immensely thankful to be "on the other side" of Mother's Day now, a part of this day will always be painful. I can't stop thinking about Anna*, Piper's birth mom. I wonder what she's thinking about today. I wonder if she ever regrets her choice. I hope she's alright. When Piper was born and I became a mom, I promised myself that I would never forget the years of infertility we endured and that I would always be mindful of others around me who might be facing similar situations. Anna has been such a huge part of my ability to do that (though I, by no means, do it perfectly). I see her in my baby's face every day. Even in her absence, Anna is an ever-present part of my life. My heart hurts for her because, despite the fact that she will always be Piper's birth mom, she is not able to celebrate this or any other Mother's Day in the same way that I can. In reality, she probably isn't celebrating at all.
In the recent years when Mother's Day was so difficult, I tried, at the very least, to be glad to have a mom who is more than worth a huge celebration. Some of you reading this have lost your mom in one way or another, and I'm so sorry. I'm sure Mother's Day is difficult for you, too, in perhaps a different way.
My dad called yesterday. Neither he nor I enjoys talking on the phone, so usually when he calls, I know it's about something important. He didn't sound right. His voice was shaky, so naturally I asked if he was okay. "I'm okay," he said, "but your mom isn't." In about five seconds, all of the worst and best possible scenarios ran through my head in a flash. "Please don't say she's dead," I prayed. (Obviously, I need to work on not immediately jumping to terrible conclusions, but my dad also could work on not sounding so ominous!) To make a long story short, something had happened to my mom at work, and she couldn't remember anything. After a visit to the hospital and a slew of tests, we still don't know what's wrong. She is doing better today, though she continues to have short-term memory issues. My point is that everything can change in an instant. While my mom is still here, I'm going to hug her a little tighter and be a lot more grateful to have her, even and especially when we don't agree. This life is so fleeting. Let's all count our blessings.
Looking back on the last several years, I realize that what I've been through truly has been God's kindness to me. (I've only recently been able to say that.) The seemingly endless period of longing to be a mom has given me perspective that I wouldn't have learned any other way, and it has made me a much more contented person today. Though I wouldn't wish my struggles on anyone else, I wouldn't change them. If Mother's Day is a hard day for you, trust me; I remember. Hang on, even when it hurts and nothing makes sense; there really is a brighter day coming.
*I finally used her real name. Bet you'll never know who she is.
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