Mother's Day

I must admit, I've never really understood what Mother's Day must feel like to the one whose mom is no longer with them, or the woman who wishes for nothing more than to be called mom, or the mom who mourns her child, or very simply misses her child's presence in her life whatever the reason. I still don't completely, but I have just an inkling of it after this year.

This year, I was in the unique position of having all of my biological children under my wings but missing the child who isn't legally mine, yet my son all the same. I believe any parent who is adopting or has adopted probably gets where I'm coming from. It's a unique kind of love, loving a child who is living a life that's always been separate from yours, one you don't have any legal rights to but in your heart, they're your child all the same.

That's what it's like for me this year. I don't really expect some to understand. Realistically, I don't think unless you're in my shoes you can really understand the pain that strange limbo holds anymore than I can understand the pain of a mom who has lost her babies before holding them, or that of a woman who never had a child to call her own. But we don't have to know the pain to empathize. I've learned that lesson this year. 

As I was awakened to my sweet little girl's artistic expressions of her love to me in a Mother's Day book, I missed him. And as my feet were pampered by Hannah with sweet smelling lotions and my fingernails "painted", I missed him. God bless him, my husband is not a fan of the sand and shore, but we walked on Wrightsville Beach that evening, just because that's what I wanted to do. I watched my girls prance around in the rising tide's surf, and I missed him. The entire weekend, I heard over and over again, "just wait til next year when he's here!", and while I emphatically agreed, I missed him. 

I have not one iota of legal rights to this sweet child on the other side of the world, but he's mine all the same. In my heart, it's a done deal. I pray often, "please just let us get him home. Please don't let anything stand in the way of us making him our son." He's not my son, but he is. That's a hard place in which to find my peace.

But I know my God is big, my God is strong, and my God is mighty. If anyone can handle this phantom pain, this Tong-shaped hole in my heart He is one who can. And I rejoice because one day he will be home, and the next Mother's Day will feel complete.