When you are not a Mother on Mother's Day.

I don't remember having a lot of dolls when I was little. I had lots of stuffed animals, my glowworm and teddy bear Snuggles were my favorite, but I wasn't really into baby dolls. My sister was more of the mothering type. I was a bit more non-conventional  in the love and care I showed the little furry make-believe lives I was entrusted with. I often spoke to them as if they were grown, I did not baby them. I depended on them to help me do things, from listening to my rants about how unfair my parents were for making me clean my room to mandating them to be part of the class as I  played teacher and my messy room was my classroom.

I am blessed to have been in lots of kids lives. I have been a tutor and mentor at work, I have led small groups and helped with children's activities at church, and I have always been connected to my friends kids. I am a Godmother, official and unofficial aunt, and it fills my heart with joy when I hear one of "my girls" call me Miss Sarah. But, I want to be a mom.

I am 38 and the desire to be a mom seems to grow a little stronger everyday. I say this not for pity or for people to tell me how great I have it because I am free of the responsibility of parenthood. I don't say this to publicly push the person I am in love with to want the same things I want at the time I want them, I say it because it's true. I want to be a mom.

When I tell my friends or family that I want to be a mom they often say things like, "Oh you can have mine, ha ha ha" or "There is no way you could do what you do and travel as much as you do with a baby". Sometimes I will get the heartfelt, "I understand, being a mom is my favorite thing." That is the response that resonates. The person who sees me as mother, someday.

Tomorrow I will call my mom and wish her a Happy Mother's Day and tell her how grateful I am to have been raised by a person as loving and kind as her. I will call my sister and share in the joy and delight that is my nephew who was so longed for and is so loved. I will be on facebook and I will find joy in the posts of my friends who are being told what amazing moms they are and what amazing moms they have. But tonight, I will sit in my living room and I let my mind wander and my heart hurt all the way down to my belly.

Grace to powerful to name

Have you ever had your world fall apart around you, not slowly, but all at once? This is what happened the last three months. There were great big things and lots of little things and in the midst of it I learned forgiveness.

Two months ago I was sitting in the second balcony of the Richard Rogers Theater in New York City watching Hamilton. I was sitting next to a girl who had driven down from Boston that morning and a brother and sister who had just bought tickets outside on the street, we were all drunk with the excitement and wonder of what we were about to see. I was at Hamilton because my best friend's passion for making theater was reignited by the magic that is Hamilton, and because I had a new credit card. During that Saturday matinee she found inspiration and I found peace.

I had recently lost someone, as I sat mouth agape in row FF seat 27, I tried to push down that loss and be in moment of this beautiful piece of art. I was in the city with my best friend from city year and my best friend from childhood and my heart was open, but I did not know what healing would come when Renee Elise Goldsberry sang as Angelica. "There are moments that the words don't reach there's a suffering to terrible to name...the moments you're in so deep it's easier to just swim down" As those words filled my ears my heart started to heal and I wept. I grabbed the girls hand next to me, who I did not know, and I cried for my loss and began to forgive God for making me feel so deeply sad.

I would love to end this blog post there. This moment in the theater with strangers and art and beauty, but that's not how life works. I got home and as I was starting to heal from this big hurt chaos took hold of my world. I found myself in the middle of survival. The "what" of what was happening is not important, and honestly the "who" of who it was happening to is not important. The important part is the how we all loved each other. In the past three months I have seen love manifest in midnight giggles, casseroles, late night board games, boxes of wine, tears, cuddles, and binge watching Fuller House.

 I learned how to ask for help when I really needed it. I learned to stand up and say, "What I am feeling is important" I learned to say, "It hurt me when..." I learned to say, "I can not do this now." And in all of this bravery and mess of a life I saw forgiveness. Forgiveness of self, forgiveness of God, and forgiveness when it was asked for and when it wasn't.

"There are moments that words don't reach, there is a grace to powerful to name. We push away what we can never understand, we push away the unimaginable. Forgiveness can you imagine...Forgiveness." As I sat and listened to Renee sing these words it felt like worship. I could feel the Lord's presence. Forgiveness, can you imagine?

When I read that playbill as I was falling asleep that night I saw the last line of Renee's bio, " Renee gives all glory to God" I hope that she knows that I found God's Glory and his forgiveness in her voice.

Sometimes You Don't Get to Say Goodbye.

My uncle died a couple days ago, his name was Dick and he fit his name well. He was my mom's youngest brother and was my favorite uncle growing up. He had 3 boys and a stepdaughter but loved to spoil my sister and me. He would give us $20 bills to go down to Pixie Plaza Market at the beach to buy New York Seltzers and candy and would let us keep the change, we thought we were rich. He would take us to the Santa Cruz Boardwalk and let us play games and ride rides with us. He would sit for hours and play "Sorry" with me and right when I thought I was going to win, he would crush me. He never let me win, and I liked that. He was grumbley and silly and a little scary.

He died without knowing much about me as an adult. He decided a little over decade ago that he didn't like the way my mom took care of some matters for my grandmother, who she took care of with Alzheimer's. So he stopped talking to us and didn't go to his Mother's funeral. He was hurt and so he hurt us, mostly my mom.

Growing up I had this extended family that was fun and silly and fundamentally broken, but we loved each other and somehow I kept loving them and they stopped. They just stopped, with no goodbye. I don't know how to do that, how to stop loving a person that is my family. So I won't, but I will say goodbye.


Dear Uncle Dick and Family,

I love you. I have always loved that I am equal parts Townley and Roberson, because both sides are so different. I love the pride you take in the Townley name.  I love how much you love being Dr. Townley's son and grandchildren. I love that my Uncle Dick was larger than life and when he loved he loved bigger than anyone I knew.

I will never forget how I felt in your backyard with my Townley family surrounding me. There was lots of laughter and yummy food, games of cribbage, and I always hoped that among the chaos Uncle Dick would get in the pool and launch me into the air.

I will always treasure the childhood memories you gave me and I will love you until forever.

Love,
Sarah Mellon

One of my favorite memories of the Townley boys is when we went to see Goonies with Ami, Ken, Emi, Chip and Jon. So I thought I would include a picture where I look like Chunk from the Goonies. This picture also commemorates the moment I was no longer the baby of the family, Tomi!

So there you have it, my uncle died. I won't get to go to the funeral. I won't be able to hug his children or tell funny stories about when my dad pushed him in the pool or how I remember the smell of his cologne and cigarettes. I will grieve the loss of my uncle and I will treasure when he loved me.