Here it is six years after my Mom’s death and Mother’s Day smacks me in the face with fresh grief—I miss buying Mom a card and flowers and calling her up. I miss her infectious laughter and her practical jokes.
Many people face grief on this celebratory day—the graphic above shows those affected most. For many years before Mom died, I dreaded this day. Why? Because I am not a mother, and that hole in my heart pulsated to an overwhelming size on this annual day of remembrance.
I remember going to church one Mother’s Day many years ago (not to my present church for sure), and they had all the mothers present stand and gave them a flower. Again, I stifled tears being reminded of my lack.
Today my church gave every woman present a chrysanthemum and said a prayer for “Mothers, Potential Mothers, and Women Who ‘Mother’ in Any Way.” Today I stood, satisfied for sure.
Yes, I have mothered many people’s children. I was a middle school teacher for twenty years. My brother and his wife knew my deep longing for a child—I had a miscarriage about the time they got pregnant with the first of their three children. They share their children with me in a deep meaningful way, and I am close to them and their children.
After the miscarriage, my first husband and I sought help from a fertility specialist in Denver, Colorado—the famous Dr. Bradley who pioneered a natural child method
So we thought about artificial insemination. The thought thrilled me because finally I could get pregnant, but my husband didn’t agree. So we
My mother especially grieved with me over the loss of a child—I had been raised to get married, live happily ever after and have 2.4 children. The Horner’s celebrated children and grandchildren. After my divorce, Mom talked about artificial insemination—she even offered to help me pay the hefty price of $10,000 for it! (Remember, this was in the early 1980s.)
The battle raged inside me—I could finally have the baby I always wanted, but I labored over the fact of being a single Mom. In the end, I chose not to do it which looking back; I realized was a wise decision for me.
The next few years I drank away, numbing my broken heart and acting out! God’s mercy won in the choice I made. I would have injured a child with my crazy lifestyle at that time.
The years have healed that profound ache, and I am satisfied with my childless life today, but I will always be indebted to my Mom and her undying support of the need she knew I had!
Here are two poems I wrote in 1996 and 2005 while I was still lamenting the lack of a child in my life:
Childless – 1996
The pain of being without a child! Eternally alone!
No child has burst forth from my womb
nor sucked at my breast.
Barren cavity deep inside waiting to
Waiting, waiting, waiting!
I have no child to pass my stories on to, my history, our history,
how Grandad created our ranch,
how special Branson Christmas trees are
because we cut them down from our ranch, our land,
how to do the Jessie polka and waltz,
how I was almost named Jessie.
My name, Larada, that should pass on to my granddaughter,
like my grandmother passed it on to me,
every other generation for 7 generations.
Cheated, robbed, failed!
Not woman, not mom, nothing! Does a child define woman?
Does the lack of them define me?
Names and faces dance in circles in my mind
Curly blond hair, blue inquisitive eyes.
Bright red hair, changeable hazel eyes
A mixture of him and me.
I have no daughter that has my smile nor a son with my Dad’s red hair.
No one to call me, “Mommy.”
The empty cavity waiting to be filled has grown larger
no longer just my womb,
but now my whole being,
my every thought,
Aching, lonely, pulsating to the beat of life
missing what never was!
Childless at 51 – 2005
I am childless
Reality hit yesterday as life in
My 50’s sheds light on my life’s fact.
Who will carry on the stories I have –
A lifetime full of
Who will recall that
Grandma Horner demanded
I have a set of sheets
With yellow roses?
Her mark of innocence for me, her namesake.
Who will name their child
Will that meaningful name
Die with me?
Who will remember that Dad
Called me Shorty?
Who will share my travel escapades?
My love for the Mayas!
Who will know the story behind
Each Christmas decoration
Hanging on my tree?
Who will understand the
Spiritual voyage I took
By looking through my
Personal library of life?
Will you be able to stitch together
The words that formed the
My life over?
That gave me closure to
The search through
The pages, the beliefs,
The heart-wrenching self
That examined herself
Through various beliefs
Who will look at all
And be able to define
The complex mystery
No one, but me!
Are you sad this Mother’s Day? If so, tell me your pain so I can share it and lessen your burden.
Check out my web site at https://www.laradasbooks.com
MOTHER’S DAY SPECIAL UNTIL
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