Melissa took some time at the end of today's show to honor mothers of every ilk (including the mothers of us, the #nerdland staff) in a moving "Footnote" essay. Some were mothers who are serving abroad in our armed forces; some waiting for children in those armed forces to come home. Some mothers are undocumented; some sacrificing to their last; some, like Marissa Alexander, are incarcerated and perhaps even giving birth behind bars. Melissa gave respect to those white mothers, like her own, who are raising conscious, self-loving children of color, to mothers who are gruff and/or kind, and mothers who either grieve today, or whose loss is grieved.
In that particular respect, I wanted to share another phenomenal essay, written in Ebony by New York-based writer and poet Saeed Jones about facing his first Mother's Day without his mom, who passed away last year on May 12:
But here is the peace: grief is vast. I thought it would be like a river, powerful but with a clear direction. Instead, though, I’ve found that grief is an ocean. There is hell in grief, to be sure, but there is joy too. Now, though I sometimes cry, I more often feel a sense of awe at the depth of my connection to my mother. Perhaps this wonder is how I know that ten months and more have passed and that my mother, in some form, is back in the world. Awe at the undeniable fact that I will forever be the son of a fiercely beautiful woman. Awe at knowing just how exquisitely she prepared me to live and write my way into this world. And yes, her absence hurts, but her presence – and I feel it more and more each day – her presence moves me forward. Perhaps awe is the best word to describe this aspect of grief given its relation to the word awful.
Queen Elizabeth II has been quoted as saying “Grief is the price we pay for love.” Love, mother love in particular, is not free. In the fifth grade while on a camping trip, I got a letter from my mother that ended by saying “I love you more than the air I breathe. Nam-myoho-renge-kyo.” A love like that is worth an infinite ache.
To all the mothers out there, have a wonderful rest of your Mother's Day. To all those like Saeed facing today without your mothers, I hope you find strength and serenity. Melissa's "Footnote" is below.
Footnote: Melissa Harris-Perry honors the many different kinds of mothers around the world on their special day.
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Unfortunately, the very moving "Footnote" essay, while carrying the "Honoring all mothers" tagline, left out one group of mothers-- the perinatally bereaved. It is not surprising, since we are fairly invisible in our society, but it is disappointing nonetheless.
Statistics on perinatal bereavement are sadly rather grim-- at least 6 in 1000 pregnancies end in stillbirth, and more are lost to prematurity and infant mortality. The numbers are far worse in some (specifically poor and Southern) states, in inner cities, and among women of color. We may be invisible, but we are legion.
I just sent a rather long email to Melissa (could not find an address on this site, found one by googling) that explains more about the issue and proposes that the show take on both the personal and the social justice aspects of perinatal bereavement on Father's Day. The email even includes a guest suggestion. Because as hard as it is for bereaved mothers, if it is possible to imagine, bereaved fathers are frequently acknowledged even less and are expected to be "over it" quicker and more completely.
I hope you find this a worthy topic. As I said in my email, I would be happy to help in any way I can. It would be nice for bereaved fathers and families to feel acknowledged on a day when many feel the sting of being left out just a touch more.
As a babylost mother myself, mother's day is incredibly bittersweet. I have one gorgeous living child to hold in my arms, and another who lives only in my heart. I encourage you to look further into these issues and bear light on invisible mother and fathers like me.