On Mother’s Day ghosts come to visit my house. They’re not wholly unwelcome. They’re the specters of relationships that have been. One reminds me I’ve loved and been loved – reminds me I was mothered.
The second one is more complicated. Present everyday. The unspoken guest in every goodnight hug, every argument, every lonely moment. On the tip of the tongue, though rarely spoken. In some of our best family moments, when the sun shines, her presence is driven to the shadows, eclipsed by the good. At night, or when emotions run high, and on special days, she drifts to the surface. Memories. The what ifs and if onlys.
It’s inevitable. You don’t forget your mother. Even if someone else has stepped in to replace her. Mothers cannot be replaced. You only ever have one. I love my daughter, but she will always have been someone else’s first. It’s a delicate tension to maintain. Adoption is so hard. We both have to be brave to make it work. So brave. I can’t even imagine what it’s taken her to survive.
Today my children, biological and adopted, hug me, my husband honors me, we celebrate our family and my special role in it. But Mother’s Day isn’t as simple as it was a decade ago with my fledgling family. I’ve since lost my mother, gained a daughter, and learned to live with her grief.
Grief isn’t something you get over. The loss of someone you love never becomes okay. The loss of relationship never stops hurting. Never. Loss wasn’t God’s plan, there isn’t healthy space for that. But. We learn to live with hope. We live in the relationships we do have. We grow and heal and comfort others. Still, ghosts come. They always will.
The apparitions of past love doesn’t have to be unwelcome. They remind us we have loved. They teach us what we can be, and what we can leave behind. And they remind us that our relationships count – so we shouldn’t be careless.
Things in life aren’t always as straightforward as we would like them to be. Mother’s Day in my house is one of those things.
Dear Father,
I pray for the grieving. The mothers and children who have suffered loss. Broken relationships aren’t your plan. You understand. You lost your Son. More than that, you gave him up. And just as he was resurrected, will you give us hope that our relationships will one day be resurrected as well, by his power and in his name.
For the tired, harried young mamas needing a moment of quiet, would you give them peace, and partners who show them consideration. For mamas whose nests are empty give them a sense of accomplishment and a new vision of purpose. For those who wished for the opportunity to be mamas show them compassion and give them a vision for their capacity to nurture young lives in all kinds of important ways.
You are the relationship giver and heart healer. We welcome opportunities to love like you. Please give us your power to do so. Amen.
Becoming a Woman of Influence 