I didn’t expect to lose it this year.
I’ve been walking in peace this year, allowing sadness to mingle with happiness.
I knew what to expect at the ceremony, so I figured I would be fine.
But that darn candle lightning ceremony — the walking up all alone, the lighting of the candle, the saying of her name, the glitter, the wish — oh, it just slammed into me. I tried to breathe. I didn’t want to cry. I turned to walk back, focusing on the flame of my candle. I made the mistake of making eye contact with my dear friend and support person, Amanda, as I lit her candle.
And I was done.
I sat down and cried hard, snot and tears and mascara flowing. A dear birthmom friend to my right hugged and held me. When another returned from her lighting to my left, there was more hugging and touching and general supporting. I am thankful for those who love me even when I ugly cry.
I am a sucker for ceremony, for tradition, for outward expressions of the emotions we feel.
To quietly say her name, to stand in front of everyone and participate, to honor her in a quiet moment of visibility, to wish the world for her, to stand up for her… it means a lot to me. I cannot adequately explain why it is important to me. Perhaps it’s the same reason why baptizing the boys was important — an outward manifestation of my dedication toward being the best I can be for these children. That’s the best I can come up with really.
The emotional crash after the ceremony has been daunting. I’m hoping a good night’s sleep will leave me with energy and space to live in the moments of tomorrow.
I won’t say “Happy” Birthmother’s Day, but I will tell you that I wished each and every one of you who shares this title with me a feeling of peace. It’s what I wish and pray and hope for all of us, no matter our story or our journey.
