I watched the video of Rachel Goldberg-Polin's gut-twisting, earth-splitting eulogy at her son Hersh's memorial service.
I am struck at how she said before Hersh she was a woman, and after him she was a mother.
That part goes against much of what I have preached about since becoming a mother 13 years ago. I have talked about not letting motherhood define us. That we are more than the children we bear.
But in her pain and yearning for her child ripped from her, I could imagine my own immeasurable grief at so violently losing my most precious flesh and blood.
I am, after all and undeniably, a mother.
The two children I have born are not a cute slice of my husband and me so much as their own cosmic entities, miraculously ejected from our bodies like shooting stars.
Dante and Josie have enriched my life in so many more ways than they have subtracted from it.
I am in awe of them, similarly I would think to the way Rachel is in awe of Hersh. To the way most parents are in awe of their cosmic entities.
Tonight and always, I am so proud and fortunate to be a mother in the universal and timeless circle of motherhood.
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