I survived eight years without knowing where my adult daughter was. I was anguished, not knowing how she was doing. I cried my eyes out for eight Christmases. I missed eight birthdays. I can’t tell you how many times I considered taking my life to end the pain.
I hated Mothers Day the most, possibly because all our birthdays surrounded it; my daughter, my mom, and mine. For many of those years, I avoided church on Mothers Day.