From Left to Write: The Mapmaker's Children by Sarah McCoy

I received this book the Saturday before Mother's Day, and expected to use it as an escape from such a painful weekend. These plans were short sided as the book deals with the two issues I wished to escape: infertility and miscarriage. Suffice to say I put the book down for a while and have only recently found it in myself to pick it back up.

Again I found myself questioning, "Am I a mother?" Society, even most friends and family, would probably say no. Yet I carried a child with half my DNA (albeit briefly). All children have at least one mother and father. Who else would be this child's mother if not me? I love Jesse with a mother's love. I grieve like only a mother could. But yet, I different.

I am not parenting like all the other mothers. I am not raising my child with all the joy and heartache that entails. Being the mother of an angel is hard. Being the mother of a living child is also hard, but in a completely different way. The two are beyond compare.

I have come to the conclusion that I am a mother. I became a mother as soon as my egg met my husband's sperm and nothing, nothing can take that from me. But I am not a parent. I stopped being a parent the moment I got the fateful call from my OB saying my numbers had fallen below 5. I believe when most people think of mothers they are actually thinking of female parents. A small distinction, but an important one to a non-parenting mother (through death, adoption, estrangement, etc). I hope one day to be a parent again to another child, one who gets to live. Then maybe Mother's Day will be cause for celebration.

This post was inspired by The Mapmaker’s Children by Sarah McCoy, a novel about two women are connected by an Underground Railroad doll. Join From Left to Write on May 19th as we discuss The Mapmaker’s Children. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.