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my friend Laura Cameron wrote this in a note on her facebook. I thought a lot of people might be encouraged by it.

It's that time of year again where I put on a fake smile and attempt to feel happy for those of you with your perfect children and living mothers. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm doing that every other day of the year too. Every time you post your ultra sound photos, every time you throw your kid an 80's cartoon themed birthday party (because your kid is so retro-hipster), and every time you post a status asking for input and advice from the other "moms" out there, I pull the knife out of my chest and paste on a smile. Before you go and think that I am being cynnical or self-centered, let's just set the record straight. I'm being honest. People don't want me to say these things. It makes things uncomfortable, but it's life.
When I was a little girl, I used to crawl in bed between my parents on Saturday mornings. We would lay our forearms facing upwards and take turns tickling each other's arms. I was two years old. I think I have held on to that memory out of necessity to preserve something of my living, breathing, loving mother. I have memories of her from when I was older, after cancer had ravaged her mind and body, memories of sponge bathing her, hand feeding her, and changing her diaper. Yes, I was older, thirteen or fourteen. Not old enough. I have memories of her, lying in repose, the last memories. I was much older then, all of nineteen. When I was a child, Mother's Day hurt. I knew what a mother was, someone who loved you more than anyone or anything else in the entire world, and I grieved on Mother's Day.
Then I was married, time for my own family. Those first five years, praying and hoping and wishing and dreaming of a baby that never came. Waiting each month, expecting to expect. Mother's Day hurt as I struggled with infertility. As young girls we are taught we can do anything we want to do, be anything we want to be in today's progressive world. The one thing we always assume we will be is a mother. We don't tell our little girls that 10% of couples suffer from infertility.
Age 28, Mother's Day was different. Mother's Day was for me, finally! Knowing she was there, inside me, waiting to be born, waiting for me. I held my baby only one time. She was still small enough to fit in my hand. Mother's Day hurts when you are the mother of a dead child.
Then my ex-husband walked out on me, in the wake of a miscarriage, for another woman. Maybe she will someday be a mother. Mother's Day will hurt that year too.
I am not just saying all of this as a pity party, though. I do have a point. I want the other women who are out there, childless mothers, motherless daughters, to know it is OK. I am not ashamed that Mother's Day hurts me. I am not ashamed that when my friends post status' and pictures and unintentionally exclude and wound women with perfectly valid thoughts and opinions, I cringe a little. But those friends should not be ashamed either. You should not be ashamed of your happiness, your blessings, and if you are ignorant to the types of pain I have described in this message, you should not be ashamed of that either. Be joyful! I am joyful with you. While I know this hurt, I don't want you to know it too. Just know that we are here too, the grieving, the bereaved, even the despaired. There are those of us who have gaping wounds where a mother's heart should be. We are here too. We don't get cards and flowers once a year. No one asks us to stand at church, and we won't be getting breakfast in bed. Many of us will shed silent, lonely tears this Sunday, but we should not feel ashamed.
Mother, many people wear the title who are unworthy. I want to redefine this day. So if you are a motherless daughter, Sunday is your day too. If your children never took a breath in this world, Sunday is your day too. Maybe your child no longer comes home to you. The separation and grief you feel is as real, the void is as measurable. Sunday is your day too. To those of you who never had a biological child, but you poured your soul into a child not of your flesh, Sunday is your day too. To those of you women who mother countless people on a daily basis, often a thankless job, Sunday is definitely your day too. It is not a day of joy, but a day of acknowledgement. I acknowledge you all, and I wish you a meaningful Mother's Day. by Laura Cameron
 

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Maybe i am wrong, but she seems to be holding on to so much pain and anger. It's easy to get mad when things don't go the way we want them to, but, as we see here, it just adds to the pain.

I really do like her redefinition of Mother's day. I think it's quite beautiful. Thanks for sharing it!
 
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