'Twas the Night Before Mother's Day

Four years ago I woke up to an email from the mother of two of my sons.

I don't honestly know how she wrote it. I don't honestly know how she got out of bed that day.

Less than 24 hours later she delivered her son. My youngest son.

And as I read that email, the tears dripped down my face.

I don't think it's possible for us adoptive parents to fully put into words the complicated emotions we deal with. The deep gratitude. The awe. The sadness over loss. The awareness of the fact that we actually can't possibly know what their first moms are feeling. Going through. Thinking on a day like Mother's Day.

But that day, she wrote to me a message of gratitude. She thanked me for always sending her updates about her son. For using the name she gave him. For the decision to welcome his brother into our family, as well. For sending her pictures and gifts. For always, always assuring her that we talk about her every day. That her pictures are on our walls. That she is, and forever will be, family.

But to be honest?

I could barely read it. To think of the challenges she was going through to have to make the kind of choices she did. To even attempt to imagine the loss she feels every day. To admire her courage but know she will never see it that way.

Well, Mother's Day has never quite been the same.

It's bittersweet.

Yes, my nuggets like to celebrate me. They make me sweet pictures at school with their handprints. They plant little flowers. They hug me and call me mama and let me smooch their sweet faces.

And far away, another woman misses them. She doesn't get the kisses or the gifts tomorrow. And as my boys celebrate me, she is the one on my mind. Her pain. Her loss. Her sacrifice.

As they grow older, they have more questions. More things I need to tell them that I can't quite put into words. Ways in which I will never be quite enough. (I am ok with that, by the way. I signed on for it. I know they will always be missing a piece of who they are. Adoption, at it's very foundation, starts with loss and trauma.)

So, on Mother's Day, I tread lightly. I thank my boys for loving me. For letting me be their mama. But I get a little quieter. A little more introspective. We don't go in for large celebrations. For their sakes, we celebrate, but if it were up to me, I think I would let the complicated day pass by without much fanfare.

Holding joy and despair tenderly, gratefully, tearfully together is no easy dance and us adoptive parents do it all year long.

Mother's Day, for me, at least, just brings that dance into painful focus.

To the woman who deserves more celebration than me but who will likely let the day pass her by as well, I love you. And I promise, although I do fail mightily, I am doing my very best to love these precious children we share.