Through Motherhood's Lens: The Ache of Loss and the Unspoken Language of Enduring Love
- May 6
- 6 min read
Updated: May 17
I did it! I clicked the link, booked the spot. Step one complete. A foreign concept to me, but we’re doing this thing. My friend, a wonderful photographer, would be taking pictures of me and my babies. Motherhood mini-sessions they call them. Step two - booking the hair and make-up. Step three - ordering the dress and finding outfits for the kids. This is all a far cry from my usual yoga pants and ponytail. My photographer held my hand and helped me every step of the way, I didn't know what I was doing. Step four - fresh nails. Step five - clean my necklace. Step six - paint Ella’s piggies. Done. Feeling sassy and well pampered, we made our way out the door. Lights, camera, action! Emily started snapping away. She melted my anxieties and made me feel comfortable, although I still nervously grabbed at my necklace, pawing for comfort. The necklace, an outline of my mother’s final EKG, the last moments her heart beat on this earth. Emily likely guessed, but the tears I held back struggled for their chance to surface. Even as I write this, I fight them. You see, I’ve never been that person. I didn't take professional pictures for my wedding. I’ve never focused on the details like this. But life throws us curve balls and if I’ve learned anything lately, it's to treasure the small things. As moms, we are never in the pictures. But this time, it was going to be just me and my babies. For me, this isn't just about the pictures. This was an intentional decision for my babies to be able to look back and see me in one of the most beautiful roles I have ever been in, their mother. It was the opportunity to freeze time and celebrate the love between us. Emily greeted me with a gasp (the dress was swoon-worthy) and a giant hug, and escorted me to the set - where elegant florals and a simple white backdrop waited for us. Simple, but so full of love - something only a mama would understand. With their little fingers and hands around mine, time froze, and the sanctity of the bond between us was captured in the most beautiful of ways. True to her brand, Emily didn't capture just pictures, she captured everything deep within my heart. She set out to create a space for this event that would be a “deep breath” for her clients, a “space where time could slow and beauty could settle in.” I don't think she realized the healing that took place in that space; the deep breath that allowed me to finally settle into my own skin, to embrace my own journey with my babies. Time slowed, beauty settled, and I honored my own mother’s legacy by living in love. I will treasure the beauty of that moment, the release that took place, the most beautiful way of honoring my mother’s legacy. What Emily captured wasn't just photographs, she captured the visual reminder of the preciousness of time, the impact of the smallest gestures of love, and the enduring nature of motherhood, even in the face of great loss.
As I began my own journey into motherhood, my husband and I did the usual planning; we worked on the nursery together, chose a theme, picked a color for the walls, created a birth plan, and picked a strong name for our baby boy. These were all intentional choices, but some carried a little more weight than the others. As our baby grew, I knew to put the magic in the details - like cutting the watermelon into a shark for his shark themed party, or scouring four different stores for the dinosaur shaped sandwich cutter, just so he could have his dino-sandwich. I learned what it meant to be a great mother when I was young, watching every move my mother made. Albeit, I didn't understand how great I had it, or what effort it took to make everything “great,” but now I do. The energy, the time, or the money didn't matter (we are blessed in this respect), I just wanted my baby to feel what I did as a child - treasured and loved. Looking back on my own childhood, I never really stopped to think about all of the intentional little things that my mom did that now mean so much to me.
It's a curious irony that I never truly recognized the magic of those details - those details that she always took the time to make. As I reflect on my own motherhood journey, I finally began to understand the depths of a mother’s love. Juggling the roles of a new-mom and also a caregiver to my own mother at the time, I never really had the time to think about the journey she was on, or really even the journey I found myself in. As I began to grieve her loss, I processed through a plethora of emotions and scattered thoughts. I suddenly realized there was so much I didnt get to talk to her about. There was so much motherly wisdom that was left for her to share with me. There was something in the depth of that loss which revealed to me the strength of her love. How, even after the longest day, she still made dinner, asked me about my day and truly listened, and how, even on the earliest of mornings, as she got ready for her own long day (likely after little to no sleep), she managed to sneak a note into my lunch, letting me know just how special I was to her. As I go through my own sleepless nights and early mornings, I long to walk back into her house after dropping my son off at school, where she would greet me with a comforting hug. “Hey baby, pour you some coffee, come sit down.” She got it, without speaking a word, she always knew what to say or do. That was her job as a mom, and she was the best there was.
I never understood the pain behind celebrations, that with every birthday or graduation, she would beam with pride while secretly mourning… “my baby is growing too fast…” I remember in eighth grade, our class went on a weeklong camp adventure. As my classmates and I loaded the bus, she sat in the car, wiping tears from her eyes. Losing my mom revealed that I understood the complexities of motherhood too late. I don't get the privilege of acknowledging my mother’s many sacrifices, or discussing these revelations with her. I didn't understand it then, but boy, how the tables have turned. I breathe it now.
Sometimes, we get so caught up in the notion that our loved ones have missed so much since they passed, but this couldn't be further from the truth. My mom is no longer on earth with me, but she lives on in my heart, and eternally with my Lord and Savior. Although there may be so many things I have in my mind to ask her, to explain to her, or to fill her in on, I find beauty in knowing that she already knows. Even when she was here, there were unspoken things between us, but she knew. There were many unanswered calls, many visits cut short, and quite a few unaccepted invitations to dinner. I was too tired, too busy. What I would give for those things now. But, she knows. She knows.
In our final earthly moments with her, she waved through the ICU door with tears streaming down her face, she took her remaining energy to give us a thumbs up and make a heart with her hands to all of us. Unbeknownst to me, that final EKG, the heartbeat that hangs from my neck, would be taken a day later. I somehow think she knew. She awoke just to reassure us, “it’s going to be okay. I’m okay. Live in my love.”
As a mirror of our Father’s love for us, no matter what we have done, He is waiting for us; likewise, without a doubt when it is my turn, my mother will be the first one waiting to greet me with open arms. Her legacy lives on in the way she taught me to nurture my family by being the greatest model of what that meant. Her love lives on, and is passed on to her grandchildren. As I look at the photographs, I can’t deny the resemblance to pictures I have with my own mother; the instinct to reach to me for a comforting embrace, the innocent joy found on my son’s face, the nervous but determined look on my own, like a mama bear showing off (but fiercely protecting) her cubs. I see a reflection of that enduring love, a mirror of the bond I shared with my own mother, the profound connection between mother and child. These aren't just pictures; they are reminders of the fleeting moments and the legacy of love that continues through us. I see more than just our smiles; I see the unbreakable thread that binds us, the echo of my mother’s nurturing spirit in my own interactions with my children, a profound connection that transcends generations. A mother’s love knows no bounds… Time is precious, make the memories with your babies, love them, and hug your mama tight. She’s an unspoken hero.
