Are the Mothers Lonely?: On Grief at Christmastime

When you think of motherhood what springs to mind?

The little feet in little socks or small hands resting, trusting in big hands. You might think of kissing boo-boos, rocking a baby to sleep, or holding close a tiny person.

Motherhood is marketed as busy days made up of monotony and the mundane. What often goes unspoken is you’re too busy in the whirlwind of inconsequential, monumental tasks to realize how lonely this space truly is.

It’s only after bringing home that cute and cuddly, squalling baby that reality hits home: we are the ones responsible for keeping him alive.

This anvil of truth dropped between my husband and I after our son was born, brought home, and lived with only the two of us in the house. When the dust settles over a newborn baby the parents simply stare in wide-eyed wonder at the empty chairs across their table where friends used to sit.

Was She Lonely?

In a recent meeting with fellow writers, Mary’s name came up in conversation. You know her. She was a teen mom, pregnant and unmarried in a culture where those two words together could get you killed. If you guessed Mary, the mother of Jesus, you’re exactly right.

When the angel of the Lord visited Mary I wonder if she sat in shock for a moment, rocking back as if the words had weight behind them?

Is he talking to me?

I wonder if it all pressed in on her as she touched her flat stomach, wondering if it could truly happen?

Will this really happen?

In the instant before she responded to the angel, did she imagine how the future would look? The danger it posed? The changes to her body? The changes to her heart?

Most of all, was she lonely?

God With Us

Immanuel grew within Mary as society’s judgment weighed on her. The isolation had already begun. No one knew her baby was the Messiah. No one knew the baby wasn’t Joseph’s flesh and blood. No one knew God was physically with her each step and labored breath she took.

Motherhood naturally isolates its newest members. Even if your friends have the best intentions to stay in touch, they often drop off one by one as they let you settle into your new role.

As a new mother, I caught stray thoughts by the tail thinking to get in touch with that friend I hadn’t spoken with in months. Just as quickly, it slipped from my grasp like smoke wafting up from a cooling wick. Pushed from my mind by the request for another PB&J sandwich, to wash a dirty bottle, or the 100th reminder to pee in the potty.

The demands of motherhood push all else out of your mind. Tasks which need priority are suddenly forgotten in the fog. Before we realize, it’s been three days since we last showered, five days since we last brushed our teeth or took a vitamin, and four months since we talked to anyone not requiring our constant care for survival.

Was Mary lonely as she held an impossibly tiny baby Jesus to her chest and pondered the impossibility of his birth?

Yes, and no.

Few people in her life knew, or even cared to know, about the true nature of her pregnancy. To many in her life, she was simply another girl to make the mistake that leads to pregnancy outside the security of marriage. An already isolating event became even more isolating as she dealt with her pregnancy alone.

Who Is Missing?

Mary’s pregnancy isolated her from her peers, not from God.

She was never alone in the pain of sciatica, swollen ankles, and changing center of gravity. No. Immanuel grew within her and God walked alongside her.

At Christmastime it’s difficult not to notice the empty chairs at our tables where someone we love sat last year or 5, 10, or 20 years ago. Their absence settles in the room like the aroma of yeasty rolls and savory ham waiting to be carved.

Like Mary, we carry Immanuel with us. We may not physically carry him bouncing on our hip, but Jesus is no less with us. As you walk toward the end of the Advent season and into the hope of a newborn babe, I pray that God lightens the load of your loneliness this Christmas.

May He hold with gentle hands the tenderness of grief, and may His presence be a beacon of joy in your life.

Merry Christmas, friends.