Mothers

Happy day to the mothers, the ones they call "mom."  

The ones

who answer "why?" one thousand times a day,

who change the tenth dirty diaper that morning,

who dread and cherish every bittersweet moment of growth and independence,

who hug their babies tight, even when they are no longer babies,

who pray for the ones who have left home but are always close to the heart,

who love and give like they must fit their whole heart's affections into a day, and do it again tomorrow.

 

Happy day to the mothers, the ones they never got to call "mom."  

The ones

who lost a baby, before they could cherish a child, a kid, a teenager, an adult,

who cried because it hurt and cried until it hurt,

who will still cry and always cry because there's never such a thing as moving on,

who miss the baby they have never met,

who hold space in their minds and hearts for a small being that they will someday meet,

who will be strengthened by their loss, and will lift others who will feel their pain.

 

Happy day to the mothers, the ones who they will one day call "mom."  

The ones

who have tried and prayed and played games of fate, waiting for their baby to become,

who cry not because of what they have lost, but because of what they long for,

who might try again next month, or

who might have to wait until the next life to be called "mom,"

who will wait for it, knowing it is worth the wait,

who are mothers to other forms of creation until then.

 

Happy day to the mothers, each and every one.