Northern Lights

“This is what you need to do. Send your mom flowers and escape to the woods.” My grief counselor told me.  

It was Mother’s Day circa 2015. It had been a year since losing our baby Selah, a year filled with continued loss.

I was broken.

Mother’s Day represented all that I wanted but did not have.  So, I sent my mom flowers and headed up the North Fork.

Headed towards a place I would retreat to as a child, as a college student and now as a childless woman.

“It looks like we’re in a painting.”

Sitting on the tailgate of our truck, two rottweilers, I sat in this place with my high school boyfriend.

It did indeed look like a painting, a place that held magic.

Now I was here with my husband, a man that had become my person. Rottweilers gone, messy relationship over but still I felt broken.

We setup a hammock by the water and I sat in it for hours watching the aspen trees clap in the wind.

Despite being miles from civilization, another group rolled in, people we knew from skiing.

It was because of these friendly faces that we stayed up late; sitting around a campfire, drinking beer, talking about life, talking about nothing at all.
Around 2 am the sky began to dance.

Shooting over the mountains; blues, greens, reds. A sight so gorgeous my heart began to heal.

Creation has a way of surprising us, taking us out of our present sadness and showing us the larger picture.

These mountains had been here for centuries, this sky, these stars.  They had been there for me through my past, my present and will remain into my future.

“I love you daughter. This is my Mother’s Day gift to you.”

I heard God whisper.  I laid on the dewy grass, tears rolling down my cheeks, mesmerized by the performance of the sky. A gift from my creator and one I will never forget.

It would be my last Mother’s Day spent childless.  I would find out I was pregnant only a few months later.

Not surprisingly, it remains my favorite Mother’s Day. Once you have children, you realize, Mother’s Day is just like any other day. Toddlers don’t understand a random day to celebrate their mom. To them I am their mom every day.

“I love you Mommy.” Lachlan says as he climbs into my lap. THIS is my Mother’s Day.

But I will forever be thankful for the gift given to me before my lap was full.