by Jenn Snyder

Created on: March 28, 2010

Grief enveloped me after my mom died in September of 2004. It robbed me of hope, motivation and freedom. I saw the world in shades of grey. I remember the weeks leading up to my first Mother’s Day without my lovely mom, advertisements promising the perfect Mother’s Day gift to let mom know she’s loved felt like such a cruel joke. Reminders of what I missed most invaded the newspaper, the living room television, and a trip to the mall for spring clothes. Anxious to put on my best face and leave my sorrow behind, I would bravely weather the storm and go out only to be reduced to a sobbing mess after sighting a glossy picture of mother and daughter sharing a warm embrace. I felt attacked without my armor.

How should one spend the hours without a mom alive on Mother’s Day? Twenty-four hours seemed an interminable amount of time with no safe place to go without spotting mothers and daughters with arms linked and flowers in tow. How lonely to feel that everyone is celebrating while I tried to make sense of the chasm in my heart. The loss was enormous and the pain took my breath away. The awkward encounters with friends who did not know what to say only made the isolation grow. They’d try to gloss over their plans, but mostly tried to avoid an encounter with me.  I think some feared death was contagious.

The first few years I wallowed in self-pity and resigned myself to grin and bare Mother’s Day as one of the most miserable days of the year. I found some solace in sitting by my mom’s grave and thinking about the woman she was and the legacy that lives on.  Still, the irony of grief is the hollowness somehow juxtaposed with an enormous weight of pain.  On Mother’s Day, the questions shouted in my mind about how survival was possible without someone so paramount. From weddings to my little brother’s high school years to having children of my own, every future milestone seemed insurmountable and hollow on a day like Mother’s Day. I just wanted to drown in my sorrows.

It was three years ago that the first hues of color flickered. The morning of my birthday and the day before Mother’s Day, I woke up with a start. As I reviewed the symptoms I’d experienced over the past few weeks, it dawned on me that I was pregnant! When two blue lines showed up unexpectedly on the stick, my mind swam with fears and questions. I could not figure how to process the news that a baby had taken up residence inside me!

It took some time for hope to win over fear. When it did and I started embracing the possibility, the muddled colors grew and became more vibrant. A new baby! That Mother’s Day marked a turning point in my life. I no longer was defined only as “motherless daughter” but “mom.” Since that time a shift has taken place from looking back longingly to looking forward with hope.

God gave me a gift in my son and the opportunity to be a mom. It makes me miss my mom more than ever sometimes, but I look ahead with hope rather than trepidation. It was the first sign of dawn after a long, shadowy night. I still cry on Mother’s Day, but then I look at those large hazel toddler eyes with wonder and humility and realize I have a choice now.  I will see in bright, beautiful color because life passes too quickly. My mom understood that. She instilled it in me. However dark and grey life looks, dawn will return and along with it, brilliant shades of glowing color.  

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