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Drums, Pa, United States
My heart is on my sleeve and my soul is on paper. Please be kind to those around you, we are all glass.

The richness of sybolism

The richness of sybolism
Telling my story with no words

Saturday, May 7, 2016

Tomorrow will be a joyous day for me.  My husband and babies have been planning some sort of surprise that, so far, according to my loose lipped 4-year-old, includes fresh squeezed orange juice, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with “special sauce,” and a surprisingly good rendering of Doc McStuffins.
Tomorrow will be a joyous day for me.  I will check on the lilac bushes Chris and the girls planted for me a few years ago.  The ones that never grow because the deer pluck the buds.  Every.  Year. 
Tomorrow will be a joyous day, for as I wait to hear a small voice say, “Mommy, is it wake up time yet?” and smile, ever so eternally grateful to be blessed with those small voices that echo in my home.
Tomorrow will be a sad day for me.  I will recall the countless years I didn’t get a carnation as I left church.  The years I couldn’t stand up to be “honored” for being a mother.  The year I was in the choir singing a Mother’s Day special and left the stage sobbing.  
Tomorrow will be a sad day for me as I remember the pain in my heart while I watched people in pastels filing in for a Mother’s Day brunch. Those days I spent in bed longing for the pair of heartbeats that once beat under my own; silenced by miscarriage.
Tomorrow will be a sad day for me as I pray for my sisters. The ones whose bellies and arms are empty.  The ones who long for a day of life in a silent house.  The ones who envy the spit up on your shoulder, who would give anything for an endless night punctuated by the hourly calling of a cranky baby.  These women mourn in silence on this day, unsure of their place.  They stay away from social media knowing that Instagram will stab them in the heart.  They lay their heads on the pillow that was handmade for the baby whose last breath was taken before their first. 
I pray for solace, for peace, for wholeness for my fellow mothers whose children aren’t here.  I pray for a heart of gratefulness for my abundant blessings.  I pray for a sensitivity, a break in my own joy to share the burden of unimaginable sorrow.  Most of all, I pray that you know you are honored, you are loved, you are a mother.