A Liturgy For All That We Carry
For the mother who blames herself, for the one with the quiet house, for the still-hopeful heart.
A reflection and prayer to be read on the morning of Mother's Day, when grief is near, when silence is heavy, and when love must be carried in unseen ways.
This is my first Mother's Day as a single mom.
I still can't believe that is true.
I will wake to silence.
Not because the children are grown
But because they did not sleep here.
And the ache of that silence lives in my bones.
That silence, space for voices to arise.
Those voices—they tell me this:
"You weren't patient enough."
"You weren't loving enough."
"You didn't carry enough. "
"You weren't grateful enough."
"You were too much."
"Not enough."
"Beyond repair."
"Easily discarded."
But these are not the voice of Love.
My mind wanders to think of them.
I have two babies in heaven.
A family of six, or is it five?
I don't always know what to claim, but I grieve what is not here.
I remember the night I said goodbye to the last one.
It was supposed to be a simple evening–takeout and distraction.
Instead, it was loss.
My friends who came for laughter stayed for my pain and tears.
One wiped the blood from a chair where it all began.
Another bore witness far too soon after a loss of her own.
Nevertheless, they stayed.
That's what women do.
We stay.
We carry.
We carry it all:
Hopes and heartbreaks.
Groceries and grief.
The invisible and the unbearable.
We carry what was done to us,
what was said to us,
what was whispered in the dark of childhood or screamed in the silence of marriage.
We carry dreams. We carry diagnoses. We carry shame.
We carry joy in one hand and sorrow in another.
We carry it into motherhood.
Even the stories we would never want our children to believe.
We carry the command to keep smiling,
to suffer in silence,
to hold it all with grace but never anger,
to never let our sorrow spill out over the sides.
But we carry more than wounds.
We carry tenderness.
We carry wisdom.
We carry long suffering and discernment.
We carry the right words at the right time
or no words at all, just presence.
We carry peace into chaos
and strength into the softest spaces.
We carry light.
And so I name the mothers here in every form they take.
Mother.
Daughter.
Friend.
Wife.
Ex-wife.
Stepmom.
Caregiver.
Advocate.
Provider.
Organizer.
Single mom.
Adoptive mom.
Foster mom.
Bereaved mom.
The one who wants to be a mom.
The one who lost her child.
The one whose house is quiet and whose heart is loud with longing.
The one with an empty nest, still learning how to let go while loving deeply.
And to the one who battles the voices that are not love.
This is what I want to say to you:
It is not your fault.
Not your body’s fault.
Not your longing.
Not your voice or your silence.
Not your tenderness or your strength.
Not your supposed-to-muchness.
You are not being punished.
You are not disqualified.
You did not cause this by hoping too hard
or loving too deeply
or speaking too soon.
You are not the reason he left.
You are not the reason the baby didn't stay.
You are not the reason the story broke in your hands.
Things fall apart.
And sometimes the pieces scatter at your feet.
But you are not the one who shattered them.
You are not broken.
You are not cursed.
You are not less.
You are a woman with arms that still reach,
even when they are empty.
A woman who stayed,
even when others fled.
A woman who believed,
even when belief cost everything.
A woman who carries far more than will ever be seen.
This is not failure.
This is sacred.
You are allowed to grieve.
You are allowed to be angry.
You are allowed to wish it all were different.
And still, you are allowed to hope.
But you are not required to carry the blame that does not belong to you.
You are still whole.
Still worthy.
Still good.
Even now.
Especially now.
Your story is still unfolding.
And so is mine.
For all that is spoken,
And for what has not been.
Lord, may you see us in our pain
Meet us in our grief,
And point us to your resurrection.
May we carry it with tenderness and truth,
as only a woman can
Today and every day.
Amen.
both 💔 and ♥️
~ Beautiful…💐