If I had stayed pregnant the second time with the girl I named Vivienne, and she had made it to her due date, she’d be six this Mother’s Day.
I just set aside the box I keep hidden in plain sight that contains the ultrasound pictures, the congratulatory cards, the surgical report, the sympathy cards, the card with her foot- and hand-prints. I looked through it while my son played a video game next to me, oblivious to the tears that pooled in my eyes but never fell.
Some friends on Facebook shared a link today: Empty Arms on Mother’s Day. It talks about the rose ceremony at church as part of the recognition of the Mothers attending. This tradition as well as the one our church partakes in – the request for Mothers to stand and receive a blessing en masse – make my heart ache.
I am lucky to be a Mother, but my solidarity lies with those women who are not invited to stand; who are not handed a flower.
I will stand up for those who can’t by remaining seated. Will you?