Mothering With Empty Arms
Each child gone ahead from among us is a precious person made in the image of God—and all having been made into Hope Moms, we together declare motherhood in each of our journeys. We are eager to go above and beyond in showing honor and love for one another (Rom. 12:10, 15). Through this series, we honor each other’s experiences of motherhood in love through our shared God of hope.
What does it look like to mother with empty arms, to mother on one side of heaven while your baby is on the other? It looks like having the heart of a nurturer with nobody to nurture, the heart of a mother, yet there is nobody to mother. Maternity clothes stacked on the top rack of the closet, strollers tucked away, and jokingly dubbing yourself “invisi-mom.” A piece of identity that will always be missing.
It looks like missing out on play dates because there’s nobody to bring, and standing by the wayside when the discussion turns to birth, breastfeeding, or parenting. It’s still being invited to birthday parties and feeling awkward because the party is obviously for the kids. It’s being the forever Aunt and Uncle and striving to be the favorite. It looks like thoughtful friends who still include you and remember you on Mother’s Day.
It looks a lot like being childless, but knowing you’re not. Sometimes answering the question, “Do you have children?” with a “no” because it’s just easier, but other days saying, “yes” with no explanation. It’s having your child’s name tattooed on your forearm so her existence can be mentioned out of others’ curiosity.
Just as the Lord’s fatherhood in my life is often unseen by the masses, so is my own motherhood. Its hidden in quiet places—in Scripture, in worship, and in my alone time. In the quiet places with my Father, I am still known as a mother despite the lack of open recognition from others. In Scripture, I am comforted in my waiting. He is the comforter. In my worship, I know I am actively doing the same thing that my child is, and in my alone time with God, my daughter’s eternal presence is never forgotten as God reminds me that He is near.
As always, what is missing allows for the filling of something different. Mothering with empty arms means helping babysit on the fly, being flexible with other’s schedules, and offering to pay for a nephew’s karate lessons. It means helping foster families, serving more, grocery shopping by yourself, and having a clean house. It looks like donating the crib that has been collecting dust to a family in need, and crying at what that act represents.
Parenting with empty arms means planning a cruise in the spring to celebrate your anniversary, always getting a full night’s rest, and not sharing stomach bugs. It means a strengthened marriage, deeper connection, and being alone together every night.
Being the mother of only a baby in heaven has allowed me to co-manage a local online support group for other loss moms, be available at the drop of a hat for those mom’s in need, and pray uniquely for them. It has given me space to write and share about grief, and recognize how many others are mothering with empty arms too—not forgetting them or their children.
Mothering with empty arms means never having to worry about your child because they are in the safest, most loving of arms. It means not having to wonder whether she’ll spend eternity with Jesus, knowing that she is already in His presence. And just like traditional motherhood, it means surrendering over and over again to my Savior, knowing that He loves Anna more than even I could.
It means having peace, love, and joy, but experiencing all of this separate from her for a time. Supernatural peace in a season of unknown, love for a child that I cannot hold, and counting it all joy in the midst of this trial. Mothering with empty arms means longing for the day when all of creation is fully rectified.
Mothering with empty arms does indeed feel very empty, but by choice it can also be a life of fullness. Where Anna cannot be mothered, I find new ways, opportunities, and time to share my mother’s love and nurturing heart. In my unseen identity here on earth, I am fully seen by my Creator. He reminds me that He has ordained this specific identity for me which is never invisible to Him: a mother with empty arms, yet still a mother, full of purpose. Therefore, I will carry this identity for as long as He says.
- Kayla
Hope Mom to Anna Joy
Kayla is married to Justin in sunny south Florida where they enjoy life together with friends & family. Kayla is a teacher at heart, nurse by profession, & lover of truth! She serves as a volunteer nurse at her local Care-Net and enjoys women’s ministry discipleship especially in the areas of grief, marriage, and infertility. You can follow more of her musings on grief here.
We would be honored to share your story as a Hope Mom on our blog. On Saturdays we feature Hope Moms’ stories in order to showcase God’s faithfulness even in the midst of such deep sorrow. If you would like to have your story shared on our blog for this purpose, learn more and submit here.
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