Last year, Deacon was discharged from the hospital on Mother’s Day. Because of Covid, I had stayed the entire time with him instead of taking turns with Derek. I was so thankful to be back with all my kids (and my shower and bed), but also so weary and frustrated with another hospital stay. The helplessness of lack of answers, and loneliness of trying to find them was taking a toll.

I didn’t know then what a blessing it was to enter and leave the hospital with him beside me. How much I would long for those annoying and disruptive stays. I’d give anything to sleep on a plastic “couch” and eat from a vending machine again. To have four days of one-on-one time with my albuterol and steroided up little boy.

I asked God how I would survive Mother’s Day without him. His answer came in the form of distraction and sleep-deprivation. Two precious babes needing the love I’m desperate to still be giving Deacon. I think Deacon would approve. He would have been the first to shout “Happy Mother’s Day!” at me and squeezed me as tight as he could. He also would NOT have been able to keep my surprise a secret (my own four-wheeler!) and would have been full-body excited for me to see it.

It wasn’t my first Mother’s Day to not feel complete. To feel like I’m the least person qualified to be celebrated when I’ve so often failed at motherhood. Other years when I’ve birthed babies much to early for this world, or said goodbye to toddlers I’d raised as mine for 18 months. It’s a complicated day. My heart longs for children not in this picture while at the same time being so deeply thankful for my four.

Grief can cast a shadow on life’s most beautiful moments. Like a 6 year old handing you his Mother’s Day drawing. I fought to make it a day of peace, hope, and love, and some moments I was successful. I put on a smile, thank God for them, and ooh and ahh over all the homemade goodness they make me. I think of my incredible mom and mom-in-law and the qualities they embody that I want in my parenting. I thank my lovely, grace-filled friends who are walking this messy, wonderful, mama path with me. And I sigh and take a breath when the day is finally over. Another “first” without him survived.