Mother’s Day isn’t my favorite day. Yes, I’m a mother. Yes, I love my kids dearly and count every blessing that I have when it comes to them. It is an honor to be lovingly recognised by my kids. But Mother’s Day is hard.
It’s as much about loving my life and blessings for me as it is about remembering my own Mom. Watching those years fly by and knowing she missed it. She missed P growing up.
Mom never got to meet J, or the boys. Never knew the joys of our own adoptions… the desire for which came directly from her and her own adoption story. She missed three of our kids getting married. And she never met any of her great grandbabies.
She never got to love on our many foster babies. She missed out on the years of my young adulthood, my finally happy life, and marriage.
Or maybe SHE isn’t the one who missed anything. It’s me. I missed HER during all of those pivotal milestones. I missed her.
Mother’s Day just isn’t the same without her.