Some Days Just Hurt
“I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.” -- John 14:18
I hate Mother’s Day. There. I’ve said it. It’s the one day of the year I wish I could bury my head under the covers and not emerge until the day has past. This day, above all others, is a reminder of what I am not and what I never had. It hurts.
The day never seemed that big of a deal until I returned to the Deep South. In this part of the country it seems that every woman is a mother. And every mother loves her children to pieces. Her grandchildren even more. Well, that’s not reality but it’s polite to pretend.
My reality isn’t so sweet. I once dreamed of a family of my own, with lots of children, laughter and love. I gave that dream up a long time ago. For a while I replaced it with the hope of a child who needed a home. That hope is gone too. A sadness remains, an aching that reminds me of what will never be.
Most days I know God made the best decision. How could a woman raised by a mother who hated her ever be enough for a precious child? Oh, wait a minute. A few years ago she decided that she really doesn’t hate me. She just doesn’t like me. Gee. That makes me feel so much better.
No. I’m not getting out the violins and launching into a self-pity party. It’s tempting but I’ve been down that road before. Nothing changes and there really is no point. Life is what it is. I’m very aware of all the many blessings I have in my life. I am grateful.
So, I’ll smile and nod as I face this day. I’ll force myself to remember that everyone means well and that, for some, this truly is a day of celebration. And I’ll remember that I’m not an orphan, no matter how I sometimes feel.
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