You fall asleep with knots twisting in your stomach. You wake again and again with a sick feeling, churning and burbling and twirling like a violent storm raging inside you. Your heart sinks as morning arrives and you realise why it is that the storm has been raging. It’s that day. It’s Mother’s Day and all you can see around you is well wishes and warm fuzzies, but all that you feel is this grief that you can ignore the rest of the year, but today it’s everything. Today it fills your mind and your heart and your guts and you want to crawl out of your skin to escape it.
Today is Mother’s Day and you grieve for what you do not have. You grieve because you’d love nothing more than to write a sincere message of gratitude to the woman that gave birth to you, but you can’t.
Maybe she isn’t here because she died too soon.
Maybe she isn’t here because she cut those ties too soon.
Maybe she isn’t here because she hurt you and you hurt her back and you haven’t worked out how to bridge the gap and repair the roads.
But today you grieve and you can’t stop the storm from raging. Today you grieve and you desperately want to have what everyone else has, and you try to take solace in what you do have, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Those women at church that acted as your mothers have their own children and you’re but a passing thought on their day of celebration. Those women who have counselled you in dark days don’t remember you on their brightest days and it’s all you can do to keep it together long enough to string words into a clumsy sentence.
Today you grieve. But you are not alone. You stand in the middle of this storm with the God of all comfort. You stand in the middle of this mess with those who feel just as alone as you do and you can be silent and still together and know that He is God and that He will wipe away your tears one day.
But for today you grieve.