If your Mother’s Day doesn’t quite fit a happy Hallmark card, you’re not alone. It’s okay to experience sadness on Mother’s Day, even if you simultaneously experience joy.
As I looked ahead to the first Mother’s Day after my miscarriage, I anticipated nothing but pain and grief. I planned to pull the curtains closed and cry into my pillow while eating ice cream and numbing my feelings with trash TV.
Equal parts of me hoped that friends would reach out to console me and that everyone would act as if it were just another day. What I didn’t anticipate was being pregnant again.
What they don’t tell you about pregnancy after a loss is that it’s not just made of rainbows. You’re not only grieving the loss of a child, but also the loss of the innocence and excitement that is supposed to accompany the pregnancy process.
Instead of blissfully picking out paint colors, you’re overanalyzing every ache and pain. Instead of pleasantly going about your day, you’re checking for bleeding each time you go to the restroom. You’re simultaneously filled with cautious optimism and paralyzing fear.
When we found out the gender of the baby I’m carrying today, I was shaking and crying in my car before the appointment. Not from excitement, but from anxiety and fear. Everyone knew we were there, and they were excitedly waiting for the call. Would it be a boy or a girl? All I could think about was, “What if I have to call and say we couldn’t find a heartbeat?”
But in moments like this, I’m also struck to my core with conviction. I am not alone in my sadness on Mother’s Day. Just like I wasn’t when I sat in the empty emergency room just a few short months ago. Though my husband wasn’t allowed in because of COVID restrictions, God never left me.
I can have hope for the future because I have seen what He has done in my past. My God is good. Today and every day. Even when I was hurt and angry, even when I wanted to run from Him and isolate myself, He never left.
Ecclesiastes chapter 3 has been on my heart since the day the stick turned pink again, and I cried in frustration instead of excitement. It reminds us that there is a time for everything. A time for mourning and a time for joy. Both are real and both are valid.
There are days when I want to mourn and be frustrated. Then there are days when I’m filled with happiness. Both come in waves. If you’re also drifting about in that sea of uncertainty, I pray that you cling to Jesus as your life preserver. He sees you, and He knows how you feel, Mama. So whether that is sadness on Mother’s Day, absolute desperation, or terrified excitement, you are not alone.
I pray that while you’re in a time of mourning, you feel His presence, His peace, and the sweet glimmer of hope that comes from knowing He is not done with you yet. Your story is not over, and you have so much yet to do.
Don’t belittle your experience or deny yourself the small celebrations. Enjoy it while it’s here. If sorrow comes again, then that will be the time to cry, but don’t blur the line between the two. If you’re in a season of what should be joy, I pray you embrace it. Don’t negate your happiness today in fear of what may never come tomorrow.
As for me, I will keep praying for each of you incredible women reading this, for your families and your babies, earthside or not. I pray that answering, “How many kids do you have?” gets easier and that milestones like due dates bring a smile to your face and love to your heart because you are a mom, and you are so loved by God and whatever little ones you may have with Him. Today is your day, too.
