As we approach Mother's Day my heart is both full and fractured.
Full because, see my arms and hips?
Babies-turning-toddlers they hold,
my lips tell stories I couldn't have controlled.
Fractured because, yes there are stories untold,
or rather unfinished, because there are souls
residing with Streets of Gold,
losses I could not control.
Full because to be these two's mama,
to be theirs is wholly undeserved.
A hope-filled story I couldn't have written,
not even when I felt cursed.
My hands and hips and arms are full,
I count this as my highest honour.
My heart is both full and fractured this Mother's Day week.
Fractured and torn more for others than myself,
at this point.
Torn for mamas who suffer loss to birth stillborn.
Cracked for mamas making adoption plans, for babies not yet born.
Busted for mamas whose children are passed around The System, instability becoming their life's norm.
Fractured for mamas whose [foster] children aren't legally theirs, but man is their whole heart stolen.
Severed for waiting mamas, childless and barren, wondering when they will be chosen.
Broken for children and adults who had to say goodbye to mamas far too soon.
So many stories, broken and unspoken,
sorrow demanding space
where society lacks grace.
My heart feels swollen
knowing so many approach this day with aches and pains,
loss and longing,
It all can feel so terribly unbearable.
Mama, you are so not alone.
If you're approaching this Mother's Day with more fractured-ness than fullness,
I hope you don't feel pressure to manufacture something that isn't.
I hope you feel permission unending,
to let your heart exist unmended,
as you spend this Mother's Day lamenting.
I hope you feel permission to exist where you're at, without pretending you're anything you're not.
I see you. It's lonely.
But your pain is worth noticing.