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Sarah Thebarge

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When Mother’s Day Hurts Your Heart

When Mother’s Day Hurts Your Heart

Last updated on: May 13, 2018 at 8:31 am by Sarah Thebarge

When Mother’s Day Hurts Your Heart 2018-05-13T08:31:16+00:00 Sarah Thebarge

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When I was 28 years old, I received a call from my OB/GYN. I’d gone through 7 months of chemotherapy for breast cancer, which had almost cost me my life.

My periods stopped when I was on treatment, and my doctor was calling me with the news that my ovaries had completely shut down.

“You might as well have a hysterectomy,” my doctor said. “Because you’re never going to use those parts anyway.”

When I hung up with my doctor, I called my friend who lived a few miles away. But I was crying so hard, I couldn’t even get the words out when I tried to tell her the news over the phone.

“Do you want to just come over?” she asked.

A few minutes later, I stood at her doorstep. Her 3-year-old was crying in his room, so when she answered the door, she handed me her 6-month-old infant, who was fast asleep. As she retreated to the back bedroom to negotiate with the toddler, I sat down in a rocking chair in the living room with the infant snugly tucked against my chest, and I silently wept over the parts I’d never use. The children I’d never have.

Mother’s Day is a tricky celebration for me.

In a way, it’s beautiful, because I love my mom and I stand in awe and gratitude of so many women who are mothering the children who are our future, and our world.

This tradition that’s more than 100 years old is a beautiful opportunity to celebrate the feminine energy that’s loved us into — and through — life. It’s an opportunity to celebrate the sacrifices that mothers make to bring us into the world, and to sustain us through life.

But I know that for some women, and often for me, Mother’s Day isn’t a glowing celebration.

Mother’s Day stings. And aches. And re-opens wounds.

It’s a reminder of the children they haven’t been able to have. The partner who hasn’t arrived yet, or has already left. The crib that has been robbed of a young life. The seat at the table that is perennially empty because the prodigal child has yet to come home.

For my sisters who hurt today, I hear you. I see those tears. I feel that ache.

I wish there were easy answers, but you and I both know there aren’t.

I wish there was a cliche to repeat that made everything okay, but there isn’t.

All I know is that God is, as our church sings every Sunday, a “mothering father” who holds us close, who feels our pain, who has grieved many losses, and who still has many prodigal children who have yet to come home.

And today, our Divine Parent is holding you as close as God ever has.

And if there’s anything I know about God, it’s that God never leaves, never changes, and never lets go.

So breathe in and breathe out.

Let yourself be held.

Let Love whisper in your ear that you are precious and you are known and you are enough.

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