To the Invisible Mothers...

I see you. You have that cart full of groceries at the supermarket. You're sitting in the pew across from me at church. You are in the car next to mine at the stoplight. A few people in front of me in line at the fast food restaurant.

I know you. You are my mother. My cousin. My aunt. My co-worker. My teacher. My neighbor. My friend.

I respect you. You get up each day and put one foot in front of the other. You hold your head high when you feel like you can't move forward. You put others first even when you are hurting so much yourself. You attend baby showers, congratulate others on their pregnancies, hang birth announcements on your fridge. You are strong, even when your knees seem to buckle beneath you.

I love you. You are beautiful. Genuine. Real. You love with all your heart, even though a part of your heart is gone. You give others hope. Comfort. A shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen. Not because you want to or it's the nice thing to do, but because you've been there and know how it feels.

I am you. Our paths are so different, yet the same. I lost my first child. My son. My 16-week peanut. I didn't feel him kick. He never took a breath. But I saw him. I held him. I made him. He was mine. Just as your son or daughter, no matter if you were 3 weeks or 36 weeks, was yours.

And we are mothers. We are members of a club so elite that no one wants to pay the price to join. We may not even realize the person sitting in the car next to us, the one behind you in the checkout line, the one walking down the street, are all on the same team. But we should. Because we are mothers. And that should be celebrated. Because no mother is more deserving than the mother that had to give their child back. 

So today I celebrate not only the mothers that get to hold their children here on Earth, but those who can only hold their children in their hearts. Happy Mother's Day.