As we get closer to Mother’s Day my heart always aches for those of us who grew up the motherless daughters and are now the motherless mothers.
I know how this season can hurt. How it can dredge up all the memories we never got to make with our mothers. I also know there are many who will face this day as one more reminder that they don’t have the kids they wish for. And I wish I could have you guys over for tea to just listen to your hearts and let you cry if you needed to.
You are not alone.
My mom used to dance in the mornings.
A happy, shameless jig in her PJs right out there in the driveway as my dad drove us off to school. She’d dance and wave and grin and I could feel the love well up from my toes to my nose. It spilled out of me – this being someone’s daughter. Loved. Cherished. Celebrated.
She’s been dead now 23 years to the day since I turned 18.
Time passes and with it go the birthdays, love stories, anniversaries, new babies, first steps, preschool orientations, international moves, new jobs, hair color changes. And each milestone is a mile more in the road that we don’t walk together.
I am the motherless daughter.
And three continents and three kids later I have grown up into the motherless mother.
Of two sons. And a daughter.
Everything I can’t remember about my mother I see reflected in my daughter’s eyes. I am terrified by how much I love her. How does a mother bear it? The good-bye. Twenty three years. Twenty three years. It hurts to type it.
Twenty three years ago I sat in a pew and sang the last words my mother left for us:
“Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
‘It is well, it is well, with my soul.’”
One week after I’d turned eighteen. I’m forty today. And I’m still singing it, Mom. I’m singing it still, and I still believe every hard, awful word to be true. That we can sing though the heavens crash open and the world comes pouring down around us. We can raise our eyes and our voices to the hills, where our help comes from, and sing. Even when all that comes out is a whisper.
“Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
‘It is well, it is well, with my soul.’”
So many of us make the journey to motherhood without a mom. Whether she’s absent because she chose to leave or because she was emotionally unavailable or because she died like mine did, we all have to make sense of what that means for our own mothering.
I am the motherless mother.
If you are too, can I take your hand?
Can I stroke the hair back from your forehead and just be here with you? Can I whisper, “I know” and let you cry if you need to? Can I just sit a while beside you as you shout the hard questions?
I believe God can take it.
I believe He invites it.
…the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. Romans 8:26.
Go ahead and groan child. Let the part of you that never got to grow up with a mom, never got to bear down with her as you bore down in labor, never got to introduce her to your own babies — let that part of you weep if she needs to. You are beautiful and loved and not a single tear falls to the ground uncherished by the Father God who holds us both.
You keep track of all my sorrows.
You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book.
~Psalm 56:8
You are your mother’s daughter, created in your Father God’s image. And nothing can break that.
We’re in this together. Every step of the way. And you are braver than you know, for all the ways you mother.
{Click here to see the video if you’re reading in an email.}
So let us celebrate quiet together. Whisper into the comments what you miss, what you loved, what you wish she might have done different, what you wish you’d said, what you wish she knew about her grand babies, what makes you your mother’s daughter.
And today I will stop, remember, and rejoice with you, my brave, beautiful, utterly beloved sister!
Happy nearly Mother’s Day,
Lisa-Jo
Photo credits: Mallory MacDonald
My book, Surprised by Motherhood, is my own story of rediscovering my mom through my kids and the Jesus who saved the best till last.
Click here to read the first three chapters for free.
Click here to order a copy for a special mother in your life where this week ONLY (April 27 – May 1) Tyndale House is offering it at half price – $7.50!
My mom died 29 years ago. She missed the baby I released for adoption, my wedding, my four births in 5 years, my home schooling from 1996-2012, my second daughters wedding last Summer, all the gradutions.. now daughter #3 who carries her middle name and temperament called me tonight…we talked…the things that made her mad….. I didn’t let her make the mistakes of my mother. My mom got a high school diploma when my oldest sister was 18. I pushed my daughters to get a college diploma and two will have their bachelor’s this year cuz, I did whatever it takes. I tried to teach them to love God and His promises like my mama taught me. That’s what was important. I miss her everyday.
Oh dear, that hymn….. My mother was listening to it as she breathed her last. Which made it almost impossible for me to sing it and I was happy that it was finally getting easier for me. Then my mother-in-law was called Home at the beginning of this year, and they used that hymn at her funeral. Ugh! Back to just crying reading it!!!!
My mother died before I married, before I had the children, and I miss her SO much – why don’t I have a mother to ring up and tell of the children’s latest achievements? Pregnancy was SO hard without her – so hard I can’t do it again. Emotionally I was totally wrecked. I never imagined that her going would affect me SO much.
But then again, why are we surprised? Mothers carry us, they have the most amazing bond with us – just because we come from them… No one else – those with mothers – can appreciate the loss… We must stick together! =)
my mom is still living… and i’m 53.
but.
we do not have the loving relationship one would want.
it’s broken.
and she is wounded. and she wounds.
a few years ago i griever the loss of her. i guess kine of like a death. the death of my dream that things could change and be better.
i feel better in a way, but, of course it remains very sad.
it could have been so much better.
So similar to my story. And I too had to grieve the loss of a dream, of how things could have been. In my childhood, she was there, physically, but not emotionally. I envy the “loved down to my toes” feeling LisaJo expresses, for despite the strong Christian family front we put on, I have no idea what that feels like. I only hope and pray that things will be different for my two daughters and my son. I’ve given birth 3 times with no mother. I’ve sat in the PICU with my child with an ear-to-ear surgical incision, and my mother wasn’t there. I’ve watched my newborn be loaded onto a MedEvac plane, and my mother wasn’t there. And yet, every day, in every failure, in every mistake, I hear her voice. I see her condemning expression. That voice in my head will never leave, it seems. So I come here… to attempt to drown out her voice with truth.
My mum died on Monday 30th March 2015. I am still very raw and extremely emotional about losing her. She had been sick for a very long time and we all knew her time would come, however that didn’t make it any easier. So this will be my first mother’s day without her… as a motherless mother.
I am so lucky that mum got to see me grow up, giving me guidance when I needed it. She saw me get married to the love of my life and watched me go through my personal battle to have children. When they finally arrived, she got to meet my gorgeous twins.
I am so blessed that she was my mother. I miss her so much and will for the rest of my life…
My mother is still living, but my father died when I was 23. He never saw me teach (his profession), he never met my husband…and now I have two boys one of whom has his red hair. My heart tightens a little bit every time someone says “so where does he get the red hair?”. I try to tell my boys about him but nothing is enough. I wish, I wish. ..he could take them camping, play model trains, teach them about geography and languages and the bible. Because his death was sudden and unexpected, I have had to be the grownup with my mom. . . .and my husband and kids have never really known her either because of her depression and grief. crying, crying
I am also a motherless mother. My mom has been gone for 9 1/2 years due to cancer. I miss her everyday. My heart still hurts like it was today. It doesn’t get easier. As we’ve adopted 2 boys, I miss my mom even more. She didn’t get to share so many things including my engagement, my bridal shower, my wedding, my first house, my boys and all the first my boys have had. Living without a mom is lonely. There’s nothing in the world like a mom. I try to be the best mom and woman every day to honor my mom, her spirit and her love for me and my brother. Although my first few Mother’s Days were difficult, I now celebrate the gift of being a mom and share that with my mom and other moms who are motherless too.
As I watch my Mom wrestle with old age, as as I watch Alzheimer’s rob her of so many things, I miss the million and one tiny intimacies that knit us together. I miss the woman who was not only mother, but confidante, best friend, fashion adviser, and shopping companion. As I grieve for what is lost, I seek to find the beauty in who she is, to love her in the midst of the “not always pleasant” duties that constitute caring for her, to remember who she was is her true self and to separate her true self from the disease.
On the other end of the spectrum, I miss the children I have never borne, the grandchilren that will never be mine. Yes, a cup of tea, and a heart to hear the grief of those of us who are childless . . . how rare a gift that would be.
As I watch my Mom age, as I watch Alzheimer’s take over her mind, I miss the million and one tiny intimacies that knit us together. I miss the woman who was not only mother, but also confidante, best friend, fashion consultant, and shopping companion. As I watch her slowly taken from me, I seek to remember the woman that she was, to separate her true (and beautiful) self from the disease that is taking her away. I seek to find the beauty in who she is now, even in the midst of the “not so pleasant” duties that come with caring for her, for she is beautiful and loved still.
On the other end of the spectrum, I miss the children I have never borne, the grandchildren that will never be mine. Yes, a cup of tea and a kind heart to hear the grief of those of us who are childless . . . what a precious and rare gift that would be.
First of all, my heart aches for you. To be 18 years old and lose your mom? Bless your heart. I know that had to be so hard. I read your book, and it was the parts about your mom and how much you miss her that got the best of me. I am 54 years old, just 5 years from how old my mom was when she died.. My mom has been dead for 17 years. My husband and I have 4 children, who have now not known her for over half their lives. She missed their academic achievements in school. She missed their football, basketball, and soccer games. She missed swim meets and dance recitals and piano lessons. In 2 weeks, she will have missed all 4 of their high school graduations. She’s missed two of their college graduations and 2 of their weddings. I have missed her presence every single day…for all of the ordinary days. I have an 80 year old friend whose mom has been dead for 41 years. She said you never get over missing your mom. Some how, her words were so comforting to me. Bless you for allowing this space for us to share.
This year will be the 14th Mother’s Day without my mom. I miss her positive attitude, funny sense of humor, constant encouragement, and faithful mama love. She missed my college graduation, wedding, the birth of three grand babies and so much of my life. Yet, I wouldn’t be my mom’s daughter if I didn’t remember all the ways God has shown His mighty compassion and unfailing love through the love of family and friends, a wonderful mother-in-law who loves me like a daughter, and a husband, who though never met my mom, will talk about her like he knew her and will let me continue to cry on his shoulder when I “just want my mom”. These almost 15 years haven’t been easy but I have to thank God for this grief pain, because it just shows how great of a mom she was, and I pray that I can be that great of a mom to my own children. Thank you, Lisa-Jo, for letting us share and for your courage in sharing and being a motherless mom!
My first Mother’s Day as a mother was also my first Mother’s Day without one. It will forever be a bittersweet day. Now six years and two more kids later, there is still a constant void. In all of the chaos and happiness and tears and calm and everyday joy I find myself with a constant ache of wishing my mother was here to witness these events.
My third child turned one this week and she holds such a shocking resemblance to my mom that my breathe caught in my throat the first time a saw her.
I wish I had paid better attention during the bread-baking and canning and sewing and gardening. Instead I’ll just keep trying my hand at those skills every year until I can be as accomplished as she was.
Those seasons, the new ones you spoke of, those have always been the hardest for me. I grieve to know what its like to have her here to see the beauty that God has made out of the life she bore. There was so much pain and hard in my mommas life. I know she can see the joy from heaven but I wished we could have experienced this all together in the same lifetime. Thank you for this post. It has been healing for me.
My Mum passed away 12.5 years ago. I was 13. I’m not 25 with 3 children. I wish more than anything she was here. It’s a lonely lonely place not having a mum to get advice from or even just to visit when times are hard (which in my case is a constant battle of trying to work out one of my boys) now I would love someone to make a group (social media or real life) just for mums just like us. Xxx
It was two years ago when my dad burst through our bedroom door, screaming, “she’s gone, she’s gone, Daune.” It was 5:18 am as i stumbled to their room and was cool to the touch.
My parents had lived with us for almost four years and in that time, both my parents gave their life to Jesus.
Only two months before she passed, I had a dream that my mother-in-law passed away and that challenged me to be more intentional with my mom, despite the fact that we were never close. I wrestled for almost the entire time they lived with our family about how I felt she was just an elderly lady I cared for. There was no depth to our relationship.
But I did, in fact, being to kiss her more, and love her.
Today, I have no regrets!
I missed her more this March than the one yr. anniversary.
I have the assurance that one day we’ll sit together over tea and she’ll pour out the love she was never able to give me here.
It truly is well with my soul.
Thanks for the raw honesty.
I’m stopping by from His Story.
Great post.
Wow, so beautifully expressed in words, the feelings that my heart has carried since I was a teenager. That empty spot , that deep sense of loss that I could never explain. I felt so much better just being able to put words to these feelings after reading your post! I lost my mum 23 years ago. I was just 19 when my mum was diagnosed with breast cancer and she died 9 months later. Since then, I have graduated uni, married had 3 children but 1 thing that was missing was that I couldn’t share all these things with my mum! No one to turn to when you need a reassuring hug or a someone who would lovingly point me in the right direction when I start to go off course.
Oh, how I miss you mum!
I was 14 when Mum died, 51 now…with 3 boys and a husband and I wish I had my mum. She used to stroke my hair and tell me not to worry. I’ve always felt guilty for wanting her reassurances with school issues when she was sick in hospital. I was a self absorbed child whom I now hate, whom my father used to blame for her death. I’ve encouraged,supported,loved,sacrificed and yes endured abuse so my boys didnt have to in the past…….but why is it so hard for my children to remember me on mothers day or show any sign of affection?