Two Truths

My first Mother's Day as a mom is in the books. I must admit, it was infinitely better than years past. I woke up to sweet smiles from my baby (after dealing with a vomtrocious dog at 5am). People were happy to hug my neck, look me in the eye, and finally whisper words they've longed to say. Yesterday was good. But the truth is, there are scars far too deep for Mother's Day to ever be this crazy joyful celebration. I know the pain too intimately to forget even if time does heal all wounds.

There seemed to be 1,000 articles and posts written about Mother's Day this year, and just about every one made me smile. I think it's good to acknowledge the pain, the hurt, the sadness of the day. It doesn't mean we stop celebrating. It means we hold two equally important truths, one in each hand as we approach Mother's Day each year. Truth one: mothers are worth celebrating. Truth two: that celebration, while good, and true, and valuable, will inevitably cause someone else pain. Either she's mourning the mother she never knew, or he's wishing for more time with his dying mother. She may be longing to have her mother back, or he may be hoping to heal an estranged relationship. She may be mourning the loss of her children, or longing to have them return home. For many the day hurts because the one they want to celebrate with isn't available. And then there's those who long to be mothers. Who approach the holiday with trepidation for the comments from others, for the bitterness and sadness that will inevitably arise. Mother's Day is good and mothers are worth celebrating, but that celebration will inevitably cause someone pain.

My first Mother's Day was good. I felt loved, celebrated, valued. But I also felt sadness. Sadness for the babies who came before, who had the opportunity to make me a mom, but in basic terms did not. Sadness for my friends who long for the touch of their mother just one more time. Sadness for Garrison's birth mother. While I'm happy to have my son, it is not lost on me that her loss is my gain. I felt sadness for friends who should be celebrating, but had lost their babies. And those who should have more little ones to celebrate with than they do. And finally, I felt sadness for my friends, my beautiful, beautiful friends who are still in the trenches of infertility or reoccurring pregnancy loss. This day can be so beautiful is you've never known loss, if you have and love your mother, if all of your children are living. But it can also be an incredibly painful day, one that only your bed, a box of chocolate, and the promise of a new day can relieve.

As I said, I read many articles as the day approached, and I think this quote from Melanie Dale at Unexpected summed it up best: "And so there’s the tension. Of wild partying in the Mommy Club and intense grieving over the ones experiencing the pain that I remember too well. And I can’t and won’t resolve the tension, but instead acknowledge them both. I will woo-hoo and weep for all the women." I felt that tension throughout the day. Even within the infertility community there is this tension. For every new woman who slips into the trenches, someone is climbing out. It is good and noble to celebrate those who finally crawl out, while recognizing the pain of those who slip in.

That's it, that's the way we approach and handle Mother's Day each year… dancing with wild abandon for those who get the honor of the title mom, because an honor it is. But in the same moment, it's bowing our heads and turning our faces to see those who are hurting. Melanie closes with this, "while woo-hooing the precious moms I adore, I intercede for the barren with prayers to a God I don’t understand. I exchange knowing gazes and nod my head with respect. The wound is healed, but the scar is gargantuan." For the mamas on the other side of infertility, can I get an "amen"? My wound is far from healed, but I can see that one day it will be… but that scar, it's never going away.

So to those for whom Mother's Day is time of celebration, I hope you felt loved and valued for the handwork that is mothering. I hope you got extra sleep, sweet cards, flowers, and sloppy kisses because you deserve it. And for those who view Mother's Day with fear and sadness, I hope your day past uneventfully, whether in bed with the covers over your head, or out in the sunshine with too many things to keep you busy. But most importantly I hope you felt seen because your pain is valid and real.