The Secret of Motherhood

“Three boys. How wonderful to be the mom of three boys,” I said to her.

“Four boys,” she replied. “I am the mom of four boys. The oldest would be five years old now.”

Would be five. 

I knew what that meant. He would be, but he isn’t––he is gone. 

“Oh, I am so sorry,” I said.  I looked into her eyes.  

I read somewhere long ago that becoming a mother is like being initiated into a sorority of women that has existed since time began.  Not all are blessed with membership and some choose not to join.  But for those who do, we know the rituals. 

So, I looked at this mom of four boys, because we both knew the secret: the joy and pain of motherhood. 

On Mother’s Day, I found myself amidst a blur of flowers and brunch, thinking of her and all the moms who perhaps were not celebrating. The ones who are always thinking of their children who would be rather than the ones who are.

The mother of four boys. 
The three friends from high school walking through the tragic loss of their adult children. 
The mother of my precious friend who recently lost her eldest son.
The friend who suddenly lost her adult daughter months ago. 

The unimaginable. 

And then there are the mothers silently battling a different type of loss–not physical, but emotional. Their children may be present, but choose not to be in their presence. 

Perhaps there really are no words. 

But, there is the secret–the joy and the pain. The holding on and the letting go. And, the love. 

As mothers, we make mistakes. So do our children, but the love for our children extends beyond comprehension. We love the ones we can hold, and we honor and love the ones who would be but are no more. 

I have learned so much about this secret of motherhood. From my own mother.  From the amazing mothers who surround me. We see it in each other’s eyes–the secret. And at times, we must carry each other.

But, that is what mothers do. We carry. 

We carried our children in our wombs. We carried them in our arms and on our hips. Even on our backs. We’ve carried them in ways they may never know.  

We celebrate. We mourn. We cherish. We grieve. We give thanks for motherhood. We hug the ones who are with us.  We pray for the ones who are not.

And we carry on.