carry it

Mother’s Day gifts.

We went out in the pouring rain. It’s Mother’s Day. One should not miss being brunched.

My mood was trying to fit the weather, even though I was telling it to dig under, like an earthworm. It wouldn’t. Melancholy, I guess. It just happens.

We passed the cemetery on the way home and there stood a man, alone in the graveyard, hands in his pockets and hood pulled up, drenched. His head was down, toward a gravestone, and his shoulders spoke of grief.

My heart ached for him and my own sadness suddenly seemed much less. I wanted to pull in the narrow driveway, hug him close and then leave him to his thoughts, his feelings. But I didn’t want to scare him.

I have these gifts in skin and bone and a glass-gone-vase for treasures on my counter. I am sometimes sad but always with an undercurrent of gratitude for these gifts and all the many more. Especially lately…it seems there’s been more Life Pain for so many people, more than The Usual.  Our pain is pain, no matter the reason for it, big or small and we are here to share it and carry it with each other as much as we are here to revel in the joy that is a little boy’s perfectly imperfect drawing, sunlight or a belly laugh, with each other.

I’ve written a letter to new moms for the Mom’s Day Rally at Postpartum Progress today. There’s a beautiful thing going on over there, 24 hours of letters full of inspiring words from many different women–a true gift to new moms, especially those struggling with Postpartum Depression.  If you or someone you know fits either description, please head over to Postpartum Progress for encouraging words and a wealth of information that does this magical thing–validating, lifting, easing, reassuring…

Mothers of every kind, I hope you’ve enjoyed your day. I hope there have been just the moments of light and grace you needed.You are lovely, you know. And you do really amazing work and I hope you know today and every day that you are more than enough.