Mother's Day Mother's Day & Father's Day Father's Day - Share ...

V olume 18, Issue 3blue eyes, watching the gentle expressiveness of herdainty hands, and seeing her infect everyone shemet with a smile.Parker was magic. She was like a movie star, and wewere proud to be her entourage. Parker melted myfears about being a father. To Mara she gavepurpose and focus. Motherhood was the role shewas born to play. With endless patience she showedthe world to Parker.The night before HalloweenMara stayed up much toolate to sew a costume forParker. The next day I wenttrick-or-treating with a 28-inch tall superhero whose redtights and blue cape had aSuperman-like emblem, not an "S,"but a handmade "P."For the year of Parker's delicious life, hermom was the happiest woman on earth. Shewould often remark that Parker was better thanthe best of both of us. She would also often say thatwe could handle anything life could throw at us,except losing our "Super-Parker."Mothers sacrifice for their children. They sacrificetheir bodies, their sleep, their careers, and theirtime. Sometimes they even sacrifice their children.You don't know absolute helplessness until youhave seen your innocent child withering away on ahospital table, knowing nothing, no person, notechnology, no amount of money or power, cankeep her alive.With a tube draining fluid from her precious head,tubes pumping chemicals implanted into her tinychest, and seemingly endless amounts of metalwires monitoring her, Parker's mom still foundways to hold and comfort our dying superhero.While suckling Mara's breast, Parker seemed tounderstand her fate. When Mara asked her why shehad to die, Parker raised her dainty little hand andtapped her head where the tumor was expanding.There are no words to describe the sheer terror ofholding the lifeless body of your only child.A grieving mother's sacrifice doesn't end with herchild's death. Every birthday, anniversary, andPage 13holiday is a reminder of all that will never be.Parker's mom will never see her walk down theaisle, have a tea party with stuffed bears, leavecookies for Santa, or say, "I love you, Mommy." Yet,grieving moms must endure commercials forMother's Day gifts, store aisles jammed withgreeting cards, restaurants packed with children.After your child dies, people you barely know openthemselves to you. Casualacquaintances share theirwrenching tales of traumafrom illness, accident, andcrime. The number offamilies wrecked fromlosing a child is staggering.The walking wounded are allaround us. I've heard frommothers who never tell their coworkersor friends of their lostchildren. Grieving mothers are oftenmade to feel like lepers, sensing that otherstreat their tragedy as contagious.What is the answer to the innocuous question fromanother mother, "So, do you have any kids?" Thegrieving mother must make the painful split-seconddecision of saying "No," and bear the guilt ofbetraying the existence of the most importantperson ever, or of saying "Yes, and she died," andwitness the recoil as fear shoots into another momthinking, "No! Could it happen to mine?"Today marks six months into our life sentencewithout our little girl. We will never see parole.With Parker, life was a feast. Without her, lifeseems flavorless. We hope for another child. Parkerdeserves a little sister or brother, and her mom hastoo much love to give.I remember as a kid on Mother's Day asking myparents, "When was Children's Day?" Like mostkids, I was pretty disappointed when I heard that"Every day is Children's Day." My parents didn't tellme the whole story. Parker did. Parker taught methat everyday was Parent's Day.To Mara, and all the moms with arms aching tohold their children again, I feel comfortabledelivering a message I'm sure your child wouldwant you to hear on Mother's Day: Mom, thank youfor my life, I love you.