Secret Mother's Day

photo by Nita Lou Bryant

In honor of all the secret mothers out there, I am re-running what first appeared at Cafe Nita Lou on April 27 2008 and then, in a slightly different version, as the "Raising Austin" parenting column in the Austin American-Statesman on May 10, 2008. Secret mothers, my thoughts are always with you on Mother's Day.

--Nita Lou Bryant

Secret Mother's Day

I've been thinking about them a lot as Mother's Day draws near, all those women who don't have children. Some of them are close friends of mine.

I'm not talking about women who chose not to have kids and are happy with their decision. And I make no distinction between biological and adoptive moms. Both get to open Mother's Day cards. I'm talking about women who aren't anyone's mother but whose hearts ache for a child.

They're all around you. Women who for reasons of infertility or circumstance ended up not getting to be someone's mom. When I was one of those women I used to think of myself as a secret mother. Most people don't know about Secret Mother's Day.

Secret mothers have children only they can see, who dance down sidewalks ahead of their mamas like little wisps of smoke. Their names are Almost, Maybe, Someday, If Only and Hope.

The gynecologist who saw me through my first three miscarriages used to talk about silvery linings. He always said silvery instead of silver, as though that made the horizon brighter somehow.

"The silvery lining to this black cloud," my doctor would say, "is that you can conceive."

It didn't seem like much to hold onto, a little silvery wisp of smoke.

Secret mothers are faced with impossible choices. Stay with the man you love who doesn't want kids or leave him and hope to find some other man who does. Have a child all on your own or no child at all. Undergo more tests and more procedures and keep trying or call a halt to medical intervention and give up. Explain over and over why you don't have kids or pretend you never really wanted them — not much, anyway.

Secret mothers throw themselves into the roles of aunt or godmother or family friend or teacher in order to have children in their lives some way, somehow. The longing to be somebody's mother never goes away, but they learn to conceal it. When asked, "Do you have children?" they simply smile and answer, No. They grow discreet, the secret mothers. They keep the big, long story of Why Not all to themselves. They don't talk about it anymore, even to their closest friends.

Round a corner quickly this Mother's Day, and you just might see them. You may glimpse a woman going down the sidewalk closely followed by what looks like a little wisp of smoke. If it's carrying what appears to be a folded piece of paper in its tiny silvery hand, you'll know that you're not seeing Almost, Maybe, Someday or If Only.

You're seeing Hope, who always makes her mama a Secret Mother's Day card.