Mother’s Day


Benjamin finally  arrivesIMG_2626photo-7 Mother’s Day will be a significant mile marker for me. It’s approach signals the close of a year spent planning, anticipating, mourning, healing… then repeating.

While I didn’t yet know I was pregnant last mother’s day, our daughter’s tiny cells were surely spinning inside my womb. So much has happened in the 12 months between then and now.

So much has not happened.

This Mother’s Day I’ll wake up the mother of three. My first child will greet me with a handwritten, homemade card–maybe flowers–surely lots of adoring hugs and kisses. He’ll likely hand me a present, and when I fuss about how nice it was for him to get me something, he’ll look back at his father with a knowing look, before smiling his big, proud smile. I’ll scoop him up and soak in that fantastic feeling of utter acceptance and unconditional love.

I’ll spend time with my other two children only inside the limits of my own imagination. In Sunday’s pre-dawn hours I’ll think of the moments we never shared, like I have so many times before, until daylight crawls its way through our blinds, across our bed sheets, forcing me back to reality. I’ll conjure the same fantasies.

 Like the one where our daughter is born, except this time, miraculously, we hear her cries. I’m flat on my back in an overly-lit hospital room, squeezing my husband’s hand as relief and joy sweep across our faces and prickle down our spines. 

 Or the one where I’m spooning sloppy rice cereal or runny green beans into our son’s small, perched mouth. I’m laughing at the way his tongue searches as I mop his chin with the spoon. He bangs his unfurled fists in excitement.

And in the wee hours of Mother’s Day I vow to also spend some time in grateful reflection about the people in my life who’ve gone out of their way to mother me–all the people who rose up out of their own lives and their own problems to sit and shed tears with me. It was their encouragement, their texts, their homemade soups, their daily phone calls, their thoughtful gifts, and most importantly their reverence for my lost babies, that resurrected me. Thankfulness is my yang, my bright side. Gratitude, I’ve learned, is like praying.






  1. I am reading this in the early quiet morning and feel really blessed to have been able to experience reading this. In few words, you have said so much and projected such beautiful imagery- it’s astounding and touching. I found myself crying and stopped for a moment to think about why that was. I believe it is for many reasons- tears of sadness for your continued pain, tears wishing I could hug you but also still knowing that it wouldn’t bring you to fullness, tears for the happiness I feel that you are able to let that light in each day and experience the day with your family- both physically present and kept in your heart- and tears at your statement that “gratitude is like praying” because I think there is so much power and truth in that statement and I’m so glad that you know this in your heart.
    I love you and your family- all 5 strong. I thank you for finding the courage to let these words spill out on paper today- but also for you sharing these words so that those who love you can be a part of something so deeply personal.
    Kisses and hugs

    1. Thank you, Alicia. Getting back to writing has been such a positive experience and sharing my story has been a tremendously healing. I felt that hug from you virtually!

  2. All I can say Kelly is that I feel so deeply for you and what you have gone thru. Know that I support you and love you, your hubby and son very much. I hope with all the time that has passed from your losses, you will be able to have a Happy Mother’s Day! Praying for your future possibilities coming true!

    Aunt Chris

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s