Motherhood & Miscarriage on Mother's Day

I remember this night last year palpably. Deep breaths, as I prepared to slip into something black the following morning for our Sunday church service. This year, I'm sitting in a bath robe prepping for online worship that will happen from our living room tomorrow morning. The laptop on my legs is tucked snuggly beneath my 33 week bump. And I spent 30 minutes prepping my spirit before coming to the resolution that I would write this post tonight.

(Before I continue any further, this post will reflect my vulnerability and pain around carrying another child and remembering my miscarriage. Friend, I don't mean to cause you unnecessary pain. So, if you're not in the right place to continue reading - this is my invitation to click back, forward, or onto another app.)

I miscarried last year, a beautiful 20 week old baby. Her heartbeat lost only to be discovered at the doctor's office. The pain of that event unfolding in the close proximity to Mother's day felt like it might break me. Today, the pain is tolerable, but still present.

I am convinced that there is no part of the motherhood journey that is not without grief. Mine is very particular to my experience. While I have the gift of carrying our baby boy, I am still rattled and often defined by our past loss. The first 20 weeks of this child's life were marked by fear and anxiety, constant ultrasounds and heartbeat checkups, desperate prayers begging God to let me keep his life. And also, there have been days when I catch a glimpse of something that reminds me of our first baby, Everly; memories, purchased gifts, seasonal markers, things that fill me with mourning. And as I cry, I cradle my stomach and I hold onto the tension of the moment. In part, because I wish to protect the child within from my pain, and in part because I wish to honor the life that lived inside me before our sweet boy.

And now, in particular as the world around us is defined by the most uncharacteristic events, I am even more convinced that our grief must be spoken out loud and no longer kept in the shadows. Women who are exhausted and frustrated by compounding expectations to care for their children and have it all together. Women who are forced into the position of motherhood because circumstances couldn't be helped. Women who long for children but cannot seem to find the answers to their deepest longings. Women who have lost their child. Women who are carrying their child. Women who have adopted. Women who have lost their mothers. Women who had bad motherhood experiences. Our grief, loss, and mourning cannot and should not be compared because they are particular to our own stories. These things define us and shape us. And even more, there is power in sharing the pain that resides among our mysterious hope - in whatever way that may be.

Every experience is unique. And because every experience is unique, I believe we should begin redefining the picture of motherhood through the diverse collection of stories that exist in the world. We should find courage in bearing the truth of our journeys not as a quiet whisper but as testimony.

Women. Share your story. Please.

There's one last thing I'd like to add. Motherhood on Mother's day cannot and should not be assumed, taken for granted, ignored, or forgotten. In a simple phrase, it's complicated. And so, in helping us navigate the national day of motherhood, what might it look like for us to posture ourselves with a willingness to listen. Rather than simply wishing a happy holiday, what might it look like to ask a question instead. How is mother's day for you? I know, it's not as celebratory. We can be in a state of celebration in our own personal lives if our experiences are blessedly filled with amazing mothers and examples. But to assume that the collective experience of motherhood for all women is the same might be wishful thinking. Instead, noticing and loving the person who sits before us as a child of God unique in her relationship and journey with the word mother, likely starts best through listening - listening to her story of longing and loss. For us tomorrow, and every day, I believe this is the way of the cross.