Today is Mother’s Day.
For many people that means flowers and handmade cards and brunches and hugs and laughter. It means celebration and gratitude and rejoicing.
But for some it just means tears.
For many moms and adult children out there, this day is a stark unsolicited reminder of what was but no longer is, or it is a heavy holiday of mourning what never was at all.
This day might bring with it the scalding sting of grief for the empty chair around a table.
It might come with choking regret for a relationship that has been horribly severed.
It might be a day of looking around at other mothers and other children, and feeling the unwelcome intrusion of jealousy that comes with comparison.
Consider this a love letter to you who are struggling today; you whose Mother’s Day experience might be rather bittersweet— or perhaps only bitter.
This is consent to feel fully the contents of your own heart without censorship.
If you are hurting; hurt.
May you feel permission to cry, to grieve, to be not alright.
May you relieve yourself of the burden of pretending everything is fine or faking stability or concealing the damage.
May you feel not a trace of guilt for any twinge of pain or anger that seizes you today, because it is your right to feel.
Above all though, may you find in your very sadness, the proof that your heart though badly broken, still works.
See your grief as the terrible tax on loving people well, and see your unquenched longing for something better as a reminder of the goodness within you that desires a soft place to land.
If on this Mother’s Day you are hurting, know that you are not alone.
May these words be the flowers that you wait for or the call that won’t come or the conversation that you can’t have or the reunion that has not yet arrived.
In your profound anguish, know that you are seen and heard and that you are more loved than you realize.
Be greatly encouraged today.