This is Motherhood, Too | Hope for those Grieving Pregnancy or Infant Loss

Grief

May 1

meg walker

A garden begins with just a seed. The faintest sign of life borne forth into beauty and hope. Planted deep into the rich soil that keeps the seed safe and allows roots to plow through - deeper, more grounded, anchoring. As the seed grows, the buds pop up bravely into the sunlight, looking for nourishment, and beginning to adorn its garden with beauty. Requiring the tenderest of care, yet at the same time able to stand against the weather, these tiny seeds blossom and bloom into the tallest and most beautiful of flowers, serving purpose, adding beauty -- a sign of life. Pruned at times, growing more at others, this beauty that was once just a seedling has grown into itself, into its garden, uniquely marvelous, on display for the world to see.

A story begins with just a seed. In the case of a mother, this seed is the hope for a child, a longing for an outpouring of love that she possesses deep within her, surprising even herself. No matter how or when the seed was planted, the hope for a child lingers, starting the story, rooting the mother deep down into the soil of her soul. This seedling of hope, this child to be, grounds her, giving her the courage to stand tall, and the wisdom to be just as she was to be.

But along the way, the flower begins to realize it isn’t at all as she imagined it. The longest droughts and the heaviest of storms take their toll on her and leave her changed, disrupted… and weary.

Left alone, the battered flower marvels at it all: Did the drought dry up the promise of life? Did the heat kill her roots? Did the winds forever knock her down? Did the heavy rain that pounded on her face and in her heart wash it all away?

Her story beckons her to believe that she is uncherished. Broken. Alone.

And then, ever so tender and gentle, the Master Gardener reaches over, and he begins to nurture her. He takes her heartache and her fear and her pain, and he absorbs them. He repairs the battered soil, he brings sunlight over her, he sees her torn leaves and her lost petals and he acknowledges them. He prunes in some places, but he helps her to stand. He breathes life into her, and he whispers, I’m here.

This flower stands tall, beginning to recognize that her story is already and is becoming more beautiful. As delicate as it is deeply painful, the way that she is seen, even as she hides, it adorns her. Even before her petals are restored, even before she continues to grow, even as she can still feel her lingering distress, she’s survived, and she’s living to tell the tale. And as she lives, she looks around and she sees them, the other flowers who weathered their own storms. She realizes: she’s in this garden of motherhood. She belongs here.

The flower is beautiful in and of itself. But it’s made majestic in the presence of others. Some small, some large, some closed up, others out and visible. A single flower brings beauty to the world, but together, flowers arranged stop us in our tracks, giving us a moment to pause and wonder. What intricacy as individuals. But what beauty when all together.

So too, are our motherhood stories. Our stories are beautiful, even when they’re messy. They matter, even when they’re different. They are true, valuable, and meaningful, even when our arms are emptier than our hearts and when we feel as though we don’t have a place there. We aren’t alone, and we are, in fact, mothers.

Motherhood is far deeper and far more meaningful than what we see portrayed all around us. It doesn’t fit one description, it doesn’t negate the suffering and pain. It begins with a seed of hope, a planting of love, and it matters.

This Mother’s Day, may you revel in the nurture of the Master Gardener. May you embrace the storms that have knocked you down but not overcome you. May you find beauty in your own story of motherhood and the hopes and dreams and tangible evidence it has gifted you.

And may you look around at this garden you’re in and find your place here, among the beauty, among the flowers, and stand tall. You are seen. You are loved. You are cherished.