This coming Sunday is Mother’s Day.  If it snuck up on you, there’s still time to order flowers or buy chocolate or at least find an appropriate card.  Of course, that’s assuming your mother is still around to receive such gifts.  Some of us aren’t so blessed, and it seems like this day gently pokes at that loss, making it a bit more painful than usual.

Most every year I try to focus on this holiday, as well as Father’s Day, sympathizing with those who can no longer offer celebratory hugs in recognition of the day, and encouraging those who can to never take for granted how blessed they truly are.  But not this year.  I was going to, but a few things have happened over the last month or so that have caused that focus to shift.

In the overall scheme of Life and Death, children should bear the responsibility of burying their parents, but it seems of late we’ve met with more and more parents who have been given the unimaginable task of burying their children.  The causes of their demise are as varied as the ages at which they’ve died, but in the end, there is no comfort in the cause.  Only anguish in the loss.  Some of these parents will return home to other children—not that those still living can ever compensate for the one that is gone, but at least the house will not remain quiet forever.  There are still memories to be made and milestones to be reached . . . and maybe even grandchildren to be held.  But some of those parents who cross our threshold are burying the only child they have.  Either way, whether it’s one of one or one of a dozen, whether they are newborn or grown with families of their own or somewhere in between, there is still grief.  So.Much.Grief. There is still heartache and an emptiness that cannot be filled.  There will still be a lifetime of wondering why it had to be their child who was taken too soon and what might they have become if only . . .

As you can probably tell by now, this isn’t a blog filled with answers or helpful suggestions as to how one should cope with losing a child.  I don’t have any answers where that’s concerned.  And I would never dare make suggestions on how to cope with a loss I cannot begin to imagine.  All I really have are questions.  Lots and lots of questions.  And they all begin with “Why?”  But I will say this, and I hope everyone who has taken the time to reach this point will commit these words to memory.  Let them echo in your life and influence how you treat every grieving mother you encounter.  And if you are that grieving mother, I hope you know . . .

Once you are a mother, you are always a mother.

Your task may be to keep them clothed and fed and safe in this world.  It may be to cheer them on as they tackle Life and to offer comfort and support when Life tackles them.  Or it may be to keep their memory alive, shining across the years you’ll spend without them.  Whatever your lot may be, you are— and always will be —their mother.

About the author:  Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926.  She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there.  Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.

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