Yesterday when I was looking at photos, I came across this one of my mom holding me as an infant. It’s one of the few photos I have of me as a child.
The more I looked at it, the more I began to wonder. What was she thinking? What were her dreams and plans? Did she like being a mom? What did she think and feel when she looked at me? What were her dreams for me? Did she have any idea of the pain to come?
These are all questions I wish I could ask her. But I can’t. She died almost eleven months ago. And when she was alive, she didn’t really want to talk about her feelings or past events. So now I’m left to imagine.
I imagine that my arrival brought her joy; that she was just as excited to have me as I was to have my own children. I imagine her holding me, rocking me, and staring at me with a heart full of love. I imagine her dreaming about the woman I would become, the things I would accomplish, and the family I would have.
When you’re a new mom, there’s such hope and anticipation for what the future holds for you and your child. Nothing is set yet; there are only possibilities. It’s such a sweet time.
But then life seems to happen, both good and bad. I imagine my mom had no idea of the pain and sorrow that would come into our lives or the rift that would be created in our relationship. I imagine she didn’t anticipate the forgiveness we would have to offer each other as adults. Those are the things you don’t plan for when your child is young, yet it’s a reality for so many of us.
So what’s a woman to do with the hurt and disappointment? I know there’s no easy answer. I know for me, though, I want to remember the sweet times. The times my mom gathered my on her lap and held me tight. The times we laughed and played. The times we took on the world together.
And the not so good times? Or the really awful times? I want to pour out grace, mercy, and forgiveness on a mom who was doing her best as a hurt and broken woman. I wish I could say I’m always gracious. I’m not. But I’m learning…
