Today I awoke in tears. I cannot name the why of my emotions. Sometimes the why is too layered to pick out one reason to attribute to the swelling lump in my throat and burning in my eyes. I am learning to accept my emotions, with or without the why. In the long run, I am learning that more shall be revealed.

Today happens to be Mother’s Day. I have been growing up in a culture - have breathed in and swallowed this culture - that proclaims this day as a beloved holiday. Just as retail store employees proclaim: “Merry Christmas” every day of the weeks before December 25th (even though it is not a holiday I grew up celebrating and so, feel a bit pricked by this greeting) … like that, people on the street and in my texts proclaim: “Happy Mother’s Day” at this time every year, and my go-to response is, I feel confused. As I grew into adulthood, I labeled this as merely a “Hallmark holiday.” I felt betrayed by Mother’s Day, as I felt betrayed by my own mother. As I became a mother, I sensed the joy, and then pressure, that my own children felt around this “special” day. I danced awkwardly around it, most years.

Since my daughter’s death, Mother’s Day holds a much deeper meaning for me. And today, I awoke in tears.

Today I thought of my dear friend, Jessica. She died on January 15th of this year. I’ve been grieving the loss of her, though it’s felt like an awkward grieving process. Being one of her caregivers during the 5 months before she died… supporting her wanting to live - until she no longer did, and her wishes NOT to talk about death, dying, and afterlife before that moment… being alone with her unconscious body when she passed - unable to relate to such a disconnected way of being with her… and being determined to support the support team before, during, and after Jess’s death… I have had difficulty transitioning to my own grieving process and missing her. I do, deeply… miss her.

We’re gathering together next weekend to pay loving respect to Jessica. It will be a day - 2 hours - to eat foods that Jess served us in her home, foods we shopped for together, foods we brought when visiting, knowing full well what she most appreciated. It will be a day - 2 hours - to listen to music that we listened to together, by artists we went to see together, danced to together. It will be a day - 2 hours - to gather together in random small groups of people we know and don’t know, standing outside the building where she tenderly taught children in the Montessori way, for decades - to share stories of how we loved Jessica, why we loved her, and how she made us feel loved.

Jessica’s daughter waited to get pregnant. She waited until their new house was livable and Jess was better. Jess had been diagnosed with stage 4 stomach cancer the November before, and, miraculously, was better by that next summer - last summer. Her body had responded well to treatments. It was amazing. The masses in her lymph system were “negligible” and the large tumor in her stomach got smaller and smaller. We all thought she’d beaten the odds. She kept saying her life was not guaranteed, but, underneath, she hoped it was. Jess’s daughter got pregnant in September. At the same time, the cancer began once again to take over Jess’s body. As Jess’s daughter’s belly began to swell, showing signs of new life, Jess’s life began to end.

This Mother’s Day, Jessica’s two (adult) children are, for the first time, without their mom. Her two (early elementary school aged) grandchildren are without their Nona. In June, when Jess’s granddaughter is born, she will be without her Nona. Knowing this, what can one do, or say? I texted: “I’m thinking of you.” And I cried.

Today, my son visited. We talked and walked and ate and laughed. It felt as life is meant to be. There was no pain, only joy. And then he drove away, and I cried. I am learning to accept my emotions, with or without logical reason.

I watched the recording of the 17th Israeli-Palestinian Memorial Day Ceremony. I hadn’t watched it till today, even though I’ve had the link since just after the event, last Tuesday. Today - Mother’s Day (as it turns out) - was the right day for me to watch this. I am learning not to question my timing. I watched, and listened, and felt - feel - compassion and solidarity with the grieving parents who spoke… of loss from past wars and of future wars they are working together to prevent. If you too would like to watch this powerful and moving recording, click here.

Today, I feel compassion for and solidarity with mothers - from everywhere and from every time - who feel the joy and pain of mothering, and for having to let go. I feel for all of you who have let go of your daughter to death… let go of your mother to cancer… let go of the vision that your child will have a relationship with their grandmother… let go of your son when he drives away. I am learning to accept this pervasive letting go, followed by compassion and solidarity - with or without common blood or borders.

I’ve been reading a book with my ears (on audio book) called “Braiding Sweetgrass.” The author, Robin Wall Kimmerer, is a botanist and professor of plant ecology, and a Potawatomi woman. Although the book was released in 2016, I’m just hearing about it and reading it - with my ears. I am learning not to question my timing; it is not too late; it seems the right time to know this book now. Being an audio book, I’m able to hear the author’s soft voice, lulling me into feeling my connection with Nature. I’ve been listening to Robin Wall Kimmerer’s words, and, because of this, lately, I’ve been listening to the wind. I find I’m conversing with it, and, when the wind blows the leaves, I’m relating in a new way with the trees. Today I felt tenderness for the chipmunk sitting adorably on the knot in the tree. My son pointed her out to me, because his dog pointed her out to him.

Today I felt connected and compassionate with the wind and with Great Mother - Earth and her creatures, with my daughter, with my friend Jessica, with Jess’s family line, with my son, with people and beings I have not met. Today, on Mother’s Day, I cried and felt happy and cried some more. So many layers of emotions. So many reasons for feeling them. I am learning to accept all this.