April shower’s don’t always bring May flowers, or so I’ve been reminded with the passing of Mother’s Day...

It started out harmless enough. On the Wednesday before, I went to the bank running routine errands and as I was leaving, the clerk wished me “Happy Mother’s Day!” Boom! Just like that, I was triggered. First of all, it was Wednesday, approximately four days too early.

Slowdown tiger… Let’s take things a day at a time…

But then I started the dark spiral into how inappropriate it felt to assume we are all celebrating. I am not a mother, nor do I have my own mother to celebrate the day with, and the blatant cheeriness dripping from the clerk’s chin, all about had me ready to turn around and release the Mother of Dragons at her for making such a careless mistake.

… DRACARYS!!!

Somehow the words “you too” found their way out of my mouth and I left without torching the place. But then, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I felt the next several days build with enthusiasm for mom’s everywhere. But I also felt the communal outcry for the bereaved. What that bank clerk neglected, the village provided, and for all the hater’s of social media it would be a shame to dismiss the macro moment of holding space for all of those that have been touched by the institution of motherhood. Being a mother or having a mother makes little difference. The gift of motherhood is ubiquitous and the internet honored them all! My irritation simmered as the larger community reflected a broader sense consciousness and that got me reflecting on my snap judgement of the bank clerk. It seems we were no different, her and I. Both of us, projecting assumptions onto the other. That I would be celebrating Mother’s Day, and she’d be more “woke” and guarded with words… Ugh… I’m ashamed at my own presumption. When a gesture of kindness turns into a source of frustration, it should be a clue that the problem isn’t them; it’s you!

As much as I think I’ve moved on from my mother’s passing, this incident exposed just how raw loss can be, even years later. I’ve heard that moving forward from grief doesn’t mean life eventually returns to “normal”. Instead, we carry the grief with us, heavier by way of holding an emotional weight that only becomes lighter when love lifts us. I’m learning that it’s sometimes impossible to keep a heart from breaking and no amount of glue can restore a shattered one to whole. But loss finds forward traction with love from friends and family, and community members that gather those shards and carry what they can as an emotional service. Humanity and all of its kindness, keeps the burden of pain from being a solo voyage. A village can help shoulder heaviness which is why we need to promote togetherness at all cost. Cue the Full Moon Baking Club…

Communities need work. The growing amount of division among us is concerning but in my experience, baked goods have always had a way of bringing folks together. It’s far from a fix but it’s a start, and if we hope to repair communities we need to disrupt the flow towards isolation and provide opportunities for joyful assembly. This month I invite you to make this recipe, compliments of King Arthur Flour, with the intention to gather, be together and share moments that will spawn memories. We can build relationships and cultivate inclusive environments that proactively combat feelings of “otherness”. And since there are many folks that daily are excluded from the simple pleasure of enjoying food due to allergies, intolerances, and other dietary restrictions, I’m thinking of them this month with this flourless recipe. For all those gluten-free folks battling celiac or gluten intolerance, take a night off from grieving your loss of tasty baked goods, with this cookie recipe. They are delicious and I applaud King Arthur Flour for thinking outside their own box. Cause even the flourless crave flowers… Open your heart by opening your oven door and let cookies be the floodgate in which kindness flows. Happy full moon my friends!

Holding you in heart,

Ashley

* For the original recipe click here.