Embracing the joy and grief of motherhood

In my last visit with my mother, before she began a slow decline, our conversation was pleasant and light, interspersed with some deep, penetrating thoughts I have pondered over the last eight years. 

My son captured some of that conversation in a picture I will always cherish. My arms were wrapped around Mom as the two of us were laughing. I look at that photo every day.  I touch the image and greet Mom, asking her to keep praying for all our needs. I know she does.

I remember that conversation and that day well. Mom was sharing some practical wisdom and encouragement, all the while reminding me that I was the one who had to keep doing the hard stuff while she was so ready to let go and enjoy a new life with Jesus and Dad in heaven. 

Only an hour after those precious moments of shared laughter and hope, Mom opened her heart to me to reveal a deep grief that she had yet to let go. Mom’s eyes met mine as she said,
“Eileen, I just don’t know why I’m still here, though I’m ready to go. Do you think that the Lord will take another child from me before I die and I need to be here to help?”

I hugged her tight as I pressed my face into her soft curls. I assured Mom that she would not lose another child before she died and that soon all those she lost would greet her in a heavenly embrace.   

Despite my consoling words, Mom’s words cut me to the heart.

Mom had buried two daughters, one lost in an accident over twenty years before and one to a debilitating disease, just nine months earlier. Mom rarely spoke of grief, but nearing the end of her  93 years of life, her sorrows were utmost in her mind and heart. 

I’ve reflected long and hard on Mom’s expression of grief and so I have come to believe that grief is an integral part of motherhood- right from the beginning.

These words from the Gospel of John inspire those beliefs I hold dear:

“I tell you, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. A woman giving birth to a child is in anguish because her time has come, but when her baby is born she no longer remembers the pain because of her joy that a child is born into the world. So it is with you. Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy”(John 16:20-22).

Birth and death are intertwined as much as we’d like to separate them. 

There is a painful letting go in the physical act of birth and every mother knows this. Even moms who have adopted their children know that one mother’s loss is another mother’s gift of life. 

This reality hit home for me as I observed the deaths of children in the pediatric ICU. 

I remember one family gathering together shortly after their young daughter passed from an emergency shunt malfunction in her brain. This is the very same issue my daughter struggles with all too often. Only brain surgery can fix the problem and sometimes it can’t be fixed.  I will always remember seeing the daughter’s mother sobbing in grief as she clutched her blossoming belly;  she grieved the death of her five-year-old daughter as she was carrying her 6-month-old preborn child in her womb. 

On another hospital visit, our dear friend’s daughter passed. She was a nine-year-old child who never walked or talked but her smile and her joy were contagious. They invited us into the hospital room to say goodbye and to pray with their family. After their daughter passed in the middle of the night, the parents asked me to come back to sit with them. When I entered the dimly lit hospital room, the quiet was palpable as there was no longer the buzz of monitors or the hiss of oxygen breathing for their daughter. 

There was a supernatural glow of peace in that hospital room; a silent hush that spoke of eternal rest. Mom cradled the lifeless body of their daughter in her arms, looking like a life-size image of Michelangelo’s Pieta. 

Mothers hold their babies in life and if we have to say an early goodbye;  grieve them in death- until we meet again. In between life and death, there are many times of grief along the way. 

Even in the birth of a child, there is a grief of letting go. 

My mom, the mother of eight children, used to say that the Lord lets you forget the pain of labor. My sisters and I maintained that she was heavily medicated for the births. Still, her words echo the gospel of John cited above. We forget the pain for the joy of our child who has come into the world.

A mother’s heart is readily given and easily broken and with the birth of each child, our hearts expand. As much as we motivate our children like a mother bird encourages her fledglings to fly, we also grieve when they leave us. 

For moms like me, of special needs children who hopefully become adults, every small milestone comes with even greater joy. Still, we grieve when we compare our children to “typical” young adults. We worry if they should leave us and wonder what will happen when we are gone. 

In that worry, there is always a grief of letting go.

Like most moms of special needs kids, I pray that my daughter lives a long and fulfilling life and that I live a little bit longer. That sense of grief is always with us- even as we rejoice in the gift of our special kids who make the world a better place just by being in it. 

A profound lesson of grief of motherhood happened this week, while I was writing this column. I knew I had to write about motherhood grief, but as I wrote, my dearest friend lost her daughter and my daughter lost her best friend.

My dear friend found me in the words I’ve written in this column. Though we did not know each other, she bravely reached out to me as one mom of a special needs child to another, seeing the parallel lives of our special daughters drawing us together. 

Ten years ago, one email brought four lives together, mothers and daughters who both needed a special friend. We shared our laughter, joys and sorrows as only moms and daughters can do. This week, sweet Tara took her last breaths and her mother began the journey of eternal grief. 

I never imagined accompanying my friend to the funeral home to drop off Tara’s sparkly purple dress. But Tara always loved sparkles and she loved purple and mothers will forever do what they can do to make their daughters smile- even in death.  

The juxtaposition of grief and the joy of those purple sparkles will always remind me that in the heart of every mother, grief and joy are deeply intertwined. 

This morning I woke to see purple hues illuminating the predawn sky.  Tara has been in heaven for only three days and she’s already got God painting the sky purple. 

Our culture encourages us to celebrate Mother’s Day as a time to show our appreciation with gifts, food, flowers, and mimosas. 

All of that is lovely. 

But we are remiss if we do not acknowledge motherhood grief. 

It’s not an either/or of celebrations and mourning, but rather an acknowledgment of both/and —especially for the mothers whose children have died.

The joy and grief of motherhood are not mutually exclusive. They are inclusive if we acknowledge both and give moms support to grieve. 

This Mother’s Day, I invite all mothers to give yourselves the permission, the time, and the space, to grieve your losses even as we rejoice in the blessings of being a mom. 

I learned from my mother that we carry our children forever in our hearts — even after death. 

And my faith tells me, you will see them again.