I meet Mothers Day, and do not renew my vow

I had the privilege this “mothers day” to actually be with my own child. I also happened to be in the same place, this mothers day as the last one, and how my perceptions and emotions were far different each time. It brought me to a level, of a better understanding of what mothers day is. It just another day under the round fertile moon.

Now that I am a mother this time again, and I know the difference of not being one, at least to the outer world. I know the difference of forgetting your child is gone, and looking down at your dress to their touch or thinking someone will knock on the door telling you they found your child alive and well or mistaking cats mating calls for your child calling to you, etc. I know the difference of physical absence. Having your child gone does not make you any less of a mother then when they were right beside you, and some might say this sounds a bit out of touch with reality but I feel more in touch with reality with this feeling, by taking care of myself, I know this is a ripple effect of me taking care of my own child, that is now no longer physically here. We are mothers no matter the loss, always.

I have learned that mothers day is just another day, and I come in and out of motherhood quite frequently as I am always discovering new parts of myself. I honor the disconnect and solemn moments for I know they bring great growth and renewal into how I choose to mother my child and how I choose to mother myself, and even further how I will mother my own mother when she is near her stages of old age returning into infancy.

This new relationship with mothers day brings me to a new light within myself. I remember last mothers day, I wore all white and sat and listened to gospel music, near a lake in Black Mountain, NC. No one knew I had a baby girl, and no one said happy mothers day. This mothers day, as I watched people adore me and tell me happy mothers day, I wondered how many other mothers felt unloved and untouched by this certain day and how I wanted to hold them. That mothers day is supposed to bring honor and love, and last mothers day, actually brought to me shame and abandonment. It isn’t anyone else’s fault nor place to fix my wounds but at the same time the surface level of how we choose to participate in our relationships with mothers is beyond any amount of words I can come up with nor sing. We must honor with our actions every moment of everyday by choosing to live our lives as if we had never lost anyone, that we know our breath may be short and fickle, but we will be carried through to love, as long as we continue to honor that special part in ourselves that is a mother, even if we have no children to mother. We must mother our wounds, our scars, our scabs, even when our hearts are so full of happiness, we must mother them too.

And so, just because I am a mother to a beautiful son, my sweet Sailor Beau, that does not replace nor make justification for the deep loss I have felt within my own life. As I have learned, people cannot be replaced. The wound is not filled with mud or engulfed in light constantly, for I am human and nothing more then mere bones with a giant dollop of spirit. I cannot channel the true words of God constantly nor see that I truly haven’t lost anything, that all things are close and relevant and within us all the time. I cannot see that way all the time. I may get glimpses quite often but rage and human remorse set in above all else and those are the parts I do truly appreciate, when they are adored for the right amount of time, to allow bigger healing. They are the parts of me that scream humanness. They are the parts that trickle down this mighty river of my small and precious, humanly life.

Mothers, who have lost, who have had their hearts broken open, that even the the light of God stings them, I love you. I honor you. I feel you. I want to cocoon you in love, and wrap each hurt spot on your heart with the most delicate fabric. I want to make a nest for you. I want to feed you oat meal. I want to catch each of your tears in a glass vessel and set them free in the ocean. I want to run you a bath. I want to plant a million flowers for you. I want to kiss your feet and hold your hand. I want to write you love notes. I want to swing in the park with you. I want to climb up the biggest tree, to only fly away like a giant bird. I love you. The depth of loosing a sweet child is one I cannot imagine sharing nor wanting to. It is a pain that never goes, it only hides, then reemerges. The words of wailing and wound come to me when I think of loss. When we live in a world where time is very important, and scheduling, we can forget that grief and loss have no time nor schedule. They are alive just as the pulse of the very mother who has lost and never stopped loving. Your wounds are valid, and time is irrelevant.

I recognize you everyday. You are worthy everyday. You are a mother everyday.