The one about moms, April 28, 2023

This one is about moms. And grief. It gets kinda sad so, you know, proceed with caution or just scroll to the end for the pictures of jewelry ❤️

I've noticed lately a lot of the emails I subscribe to give you the "opt out of Mothers/Fathers day emails"

I think this is a nice gesture- every year I struggle with what to do about mothers day, and whether or not to put out an email. I realize that for many who have lost their mom, struggled to become a mother, or have a strained relationship, mother's day can bring up a lot of heavy and painful emotions and that is why I hesitate to send out a reminder of the day. And if you choose to stop reading here, I completely understand, and wish you comfort through the next few days of these reminders.

I know how fortunate I am to not only have a great relationship with my mom, but to still have her on the earthly side, and I guess it's this time of year that I reflect on that and feel sad that this isn't the case for everyone. And I feel sad that I don't take even more advantage of the time I still have with her (hi mom, I love you)

I know that loss and grief are a huge part of life and loving. That knowledge is the cornerstone of the work I make as a "sentimental metalsmith". Though I've experienced loss in my life, I've not gone through the profound loss of a parent, and honestly, the thought of it absolutely terrifies me. It's something I've talked about in therapy, and that my therapist described as "anticipatory grief". (You can read more about this and grief HERE). I do my best to make the most of the time I have with the people I love but I can't fully understand the depth of that loss. Still though, I think we need to talk about it, rather than try to forget it is going to come for us.

I heard this quote recently on a podcast, and it really hit me. The author, Helen Bailey, was writing about balloons being released in honor of her late husband’s birthday on her blog “Planet Grief”

But it’s what she says at the end that is so profound. I’m sharing it in the hopes that it brings a glimmer of comfort.

“I have a flash of terror at the thought of my balloon being sucked into a jet engine, the plane plummeting over London, and my being responsible for hundreds of new inhabitants of Planet Grief. But then the balloons continue their gentle flight. At first familiar and recognizable, then just dots, and then nothing. As I search the sky with teary eyes, I think to myself “I know they’re out there. Only moments ago I was holding them. I could feel their form and energy. I could see them and they were bright and shiny and fun, and even when I let them go, for a while I could watch them. But now, however hard I look, however carefully I scan every inch of the skyline, I can’t see them. They may have gone from my sight and my touch, they may soon be punctured, and in a change of shape end up hanging in a tree or be swept up and binned, but I know that in some form, they’re still out there.

And I’m not just talking about balloons.

But you know that, didn’t you?

Wow, this email is getting kind of heavy, huh? Sorry about that. Somehow, this day makes me feel my age more than my own birthday. I guess my point is, love as hard as you can every day. Call your mom. Send her a text. Hug her whenever possible.

And if you're looking for jewelry to honor your mama, or if you’re a mama and you want to celebrate your day, I will be shipping orders through Tuesday, and then, lucky lady that I am, I'm off with my own mom to "play" for a week at an art retreat

If any of you want to talk about your mom, or share a story, hit reply, I'd love to listen.

With love (I mean it)

erin