Mother’s Day dread.

I can’t help it, y’all. I’m already holiday-wary as it is. But this week, hundreds of moms in Nigeria are missing their daughters. One of our own, a blogger in California, is missing her toddler son. And these are just the events fresh on my mind, the stories I see playing out on the Internet and on the news. Then there’s the couple in my small group, still unable to have children and reaching the end of their infertility journey. And the couple from our wedding party, still on the waiting list to adopt after one fell through at the last minute. And my coworker, a young newly-engaged woman, flying home this week to move her mother into a facility for early-onset Alzheimer’s disease.

I am a mother and I have a mother, and I don’t take either one for granted. I want to celebrate both this weekend, as best as I can. But if you don’t fall into either of those categories right now, I want you to know that I can sit with you in that. I am seeing you, hearing you, and hurting for you. As twisted as it sounds, I’m pretty good at helping people hurt. Let me lift some of that weight from your shoulders. Let me hold your hand for awhile. Let me walk with you through the dread of this coming Sunday.