Tomorrow

Tomorrow is Mother's Day.

It's strange that this holiday -- a holiday that I have wanted for so long to celebrate -- is now a holiday that I celebrate cautiously, tenderly, with a strange combination of contentment for myself and pain for others in my heart.

I celebrate this way because I know what it is like for this holiday to hurt. And, in a strange way, it is a holiday that still hurts.

I could list ten names, twenty, maybe thirty. Women who will not go to church tomorrow. The flowers on the blouses and the acknowledgment by standing during service of moms will be too painful for them to watch and partake in.

For four years, we skipped church on the Sunday. We found solace in our canoe trips. Miles away from families and flowers and pain. We'd pack a lunch and go off jut the two of us. They were quiet days. We both knew why we were canoeing. But we didn't talk about. We talked about the birds and the fish and the beautiful Minnesota weather that had finally fallen upon us.

My own mother understood that while I tried to celebrate her, my own pain was so great, it was difficult to acknowledge that this day even existed. It was selfish of me. But it was something I couldn't escape from.

For some, the day will be doubly hard. Many churches use the occasion to celebrate new life. with baby dedications. As one of my friends said once, "Stab me twice. Mother's Day and Baby Dedication Sunday all wrapped up into one." The two hardest things to participate in at church celebrated on one day.

So many weeks I'd leave church, holding back my tears, only to sit down in the passenger seat in the car and find myself flooded by everything I had held inside.

Instead of skipping church, many women will brave it. They will sit through church. And they will fight that lump in their throat the entire time. They will look back over the last year, two, five, ten of their lives. They will recount their journey. They will watch mothers sitting with their children. They will wish that they were among them. They will try to be happy for others. They will go to lunch with their own mom. But it will hurt. Later that night, they'll crawl into bed and finally give themselves permission to grieve what they do not have.

They will probably feel guilty, as I did. Guilty that I was unable to even celebrate my own mother in the way she deserved to be celebrated on that day because my hurt was so great. That one day was a culmination of everything I wanted and everything I did not have.

It isn't just infertile women I think of on Mother's Day. It's single gals who wish they were married. Wish they had children. It's children who have recently lost their mother. It's someone who just lost a child or had a miscarriage. It's a range of individuals.

Don't get me wrong. We can't go through life avoiding celebrating. Each holiday brings someone pain, for some reason or another. Mother's Day was created for all the right reasons. And mothers everywhere deserve to have at least one day a year that they are reminded they are doing a good job.

Last year on Mother's Day I was in a mini-van, driving back from Fort Lauderdale with our two day old Isaac in the car. I came home to flowers and decorations from my dear wifia gals -- celebrating with me the child we had waited for for so long. It was Mother's Day. And I was a mom. At long last.

This year on Mother's Day my husband is in Texas. However, he left a present for me. Hidden. He said I had to have Isaac show me where it is. Isaac doesn't seem so willing to share the location. I may have to ask JB to give me a few hints.

I feel amazingly blessed that I am a mother. I am so amazingly thankful. And yet I also, still, have such a heavy heart for those men and women who will be sad tomorrow. Those individuals who will be grieving the loss of a loved one. The loss of a dream. The loss of a child.

My online friend Stacy has travelled the same road as me. Her road was not plagued by IVFs that did not work. Her's were even harder. Two miscarriages. Then adoption. And now, a little girl, poised to make her debut very soon. She wrote a piece for her church bulletin about just this topic. She writes:

Today, Mother’s Day 2009, I could celebrate that my future will hold children just 11 months apart. I could celebrate that my battle with infertility has come to an end. But instead, today I choose to celebrate that God restored my soul…before he restored my circumstances. I celebrate that he healed my heart. I celebrate freedom from the bondage of bitterness. I celebrate the blessing of waiting on the Lord.

I pray that I am able to do the same tomorrow. I pray that we are all able to remember those individuals sitting next to us, in front of us, behind us in church who are sitting in pain. For those couple at the booth behind you at the restaurant who have no children. For your friend who lost her mother. For you neighbor who was recently divorced and is grieving her loss of a husband and the loss of future children.

I ask all of you remember those individuals. Even if you choose not to address it publicly with them, please pray for them tomorrow. To those of you reading this post who are still dreaming of children, I will be praying for you tomorrow.

You know who you are. I don't need to say your names.

The entire day. I will be praying. I will be praying that the Lord gives you peace. I will be praying that the Lord gives your heart rest.

I will be praying that the Lord gives you the deepest desires of your heart.

As I am reposting this post today, I want to share some links from my past that have ministered to me or others on Mother's Day:

• Mother's Day 2011
• Mother's Day 2016
• The Wide Spectrum of Mothering
• Give Yourself Some Grace on Mother's Day
• Infertility Grief
• Being a Mom After Infertility
• A Mother's Day Letter (for the waiting)
• A Mother's Cry