To My Daughter, on Mother's Day

My dearest Micayla,

Mother's Day, 2004: Your dad and I were starting to deal with the fact that we now had a label attached to our struggle to get pregnant--we were now in the infertility crowd, and it wasn't one we had planned on joining. Mother's Day was okay. I don't remember much about it honestly.

Mother's Day, 2005: Another year in the heart-wrenching battle of infertility. Your dad and I prayed so often that God would bless us with a child of our own. And we just felt that those prayers were falling on deaf ears. We knew that God was listening, but it sure was difficult to try and find joy in the midst of suffering. We went to church, but it was hard celebrating all the moms there when I longed to be one of them. My heart hurt. I was in Memphis this Mother's Day, because Aunt Lisa and Uncle Emery were dedicating Lauren that morning. I sat with them, Kathryn, and my parents near the front of GBC. The pastor led a prayer for all the moms in the audience. And then he asked for those couples struggling to become parents to come down front so that they could be prayed for. Your dad was back in Texas, and I wasn't about to go by myself. I just broke down in tears and tried to hold it together....Aunt Lisa cried right alongside me.

Mother's Day, 2006: I think this was the year that we didn't even go to church on Mother's Day. It was too hard for me. Your dad felt so bad because he knew that there would be a special time at church honoring all the mothers, but those of us who longed to be mothers and couldn't for whatever reason were left in the pit of despair.

Mother's Day, 2007: We were brave and decided to go to church on this Mother's Day, but we had no clue what we were in for. Becoming a mom seemed more like a distant dream than a likely reality. Your dad felt bad because though he knew the pain of not being able to be a parent, he didn't know what it was like to not be able to do something that most women believe they can do--give birth to a child. We went into the service, cautious, but being optimistic. I remembered to pack Kleenex in my purse that year. And then the pastor of our church asked for all those couples who longed to have a child to stand so that they could be prayed for. Your dad grabbed my hand, and we stood. Amid tears streaming down my face, I felt sorrow over the children I would likely never bear. Your dad and I felt pretty alone--we'd only been in this city and this church for about a year, and it still felt really new to us. After the pastor prayed, we sat. And then the ushers handed out gifts to all the moms in the service. Head bent down, trying to wipe the tears still streaming down my face, I didn't know that an usher came to try and give me a gift, and Hudson had to shake his head no to him. Your dad told me later that it broke his heart to have to deny me something that he knew we wanted, yet had no control over. We went to Sunday School, only to have our teacher do the same thing in class. I was exhausted from all the emotion that I'd spent. Your dad tried so hard to make it a day that wasn't any big deal, but at lunch, at the store, everywhere we went, a cashier, waiter, someone would offer the phrase "Happy Mother's Day" to me. And I cried more.

Mother's Day, 2008: We had finished our paperwork and home study for adoption the month before, and were just waiting for a phone call from our agency letting us know we had been picked. For the first time in 4 years, I felt hopeful. Trying to have a child was an endless battle--there was no end date to our struggle. But with adoption, we knew that the likelihood was that we would have a child within a few years, and that seemed much more hopeful than before. Your dad and I were apart again this weekend, and I was home with my mom, dad, sisters, brothers-in-law, and nieces, celebrating my mom, otherwise known as "Mama Carol" by her grandkids. You see, my sisters and I had a unsettling feeling that Mother's Day 2008 was going to be the last one that we had here on Earth with Mama Carol. And while that makes me sad, because I miss her so much, I'm so glad that I went home and had that weekend with her. She wasn't strong enough to go to church that day, but she got to see all three of her daughters, and her two granddaughters on a very special day. I don't remember what we got her, but I'm sure that my sisters and I put some thought into it. I commented to your dad on the phone that this was the first Mother's Day that I didn't cry about the fact that I wasn't a mom. I think he was grateful for a year that wasn't filled with raw emotions from his wife.

Mother's Day, 2009:
You might wonder why on Earth I would give you all this background information, but I want you to know without a shadow of a doubt how much this Mother's Day means to me. Because of you. Oh, I likely had the "mother" in me when I didn't have a child to bestow it on. And the term "Mother's Day" doesn't offer me anything more special than tomorrow or the next day or the previous day. You see, I have you as a daughter each and every day. And because of you, I'm a mother every day. And I'm profoundly grateful to God for bestowing upon me an honor which I absolutely could not get on my own accord. I'm also thankful to a young woman who decided that she couldn't do for you what was best, and chose me to be your mother when she could not.

My dearest daughter, how I've longed to write those words. Yet, even in my joy of now having a daughter to cherish, raise, and love, I still know the pain of those that don't have those children they long for. So my heart still hurts--for the children that your dad and I can't have, for the friends who pray feverishly for God to bless them with a child, yet feeling hopeless year after year, and for those moms who've only had the ability to carry a child, only to lose that precious gift for a variety of reasons.

Micayla, I think today would be better called "Daughter's Day," because if you weren't here to bless our lives, we wouldn't be celebrating Mother's Day. I can't promise you the world, or even tomorrow, but I can promise you that I will love you without reserve. You make me into the mother that I've longed to be, and for that, I pray that God grants me the wisdom to continue to be someone that you can admire and respect. I pray that in those times that my patience runs thin, that my selfish wants take precedence, that my sinfulness causes me to fail, that you'll be able to look past those failures and see that just as you are learning new things each day, so is your mother. You'll never be able to fully comprehend the overwhelming feeling of love that I have for you. I thank God for you daily, and I pray that I have many more "Mother's Days" to celebrate because of you. Your smile when I come to get you from your nap, your laugh when I laugh, your hazel eyes dancing back and forth when we play, your tears when you think you've been left too long, your little hands that grab my face when we rock, your singing with me in the car---all of these things allow me to feel special as a mom. So while society might decide that moms need a day to be recognized, having you as my daughter is recognition enough.

I love you Micayla Marie,
Mom