Yesterday my Nannie’s glass was shattered, intentionally thrown across the room by a child of mine. My heart shattered with it for that glass held memories.

When we visited my Nannie in Florida, I would wake with the sun to the aroma of fresh eggs, bacon, and grits. I would stumble into her bright yellow kitchen. The counters always cluttered, the small white table nicely set, and the glasses full of orange juice.

“Thumbprint glasses,” I called them.

I would put my tiny thumb into the imprint of each beautiful dent and admire the rainbows the iridescent glass made. That tiny thumb grew into a teenage one and eventually into an adult, but the memory stays the same. Nannie cooked tirelessly, the table set just for me, and conversation as if I was the only thing that mattered while my parents enjoyed a morning to sleep in.

My Nannie passed a few years ago at age 106, and my mother inherited a lot of her things. I would come back from Bosnia for a visit, and my mother always brought out the thumbprint glasses just for me at breakfast time. Over time, the whole set dwindled down to two glasses, but I cherished them the same. When my mother passed in 2019, and my dad asked what I wanted, I didn’t ask for much. I don’t have space for many keepsakes so I have to be choosy.

I chose the thumbprint glasses. Those women left their prints on me, and those glasses hold memories.

And yesterday, my child broke one of them.

RELATED: I Never Wanted My Mother-in-Law’s Curio Cabinet

I’ve been doing some deep work the past couple of years, asking what’s going on inside of me when a child misbehaves instead of moving straight toward reactionary discipline. I remained calm as I sat him on the step for a “time-in.” I talked about how it made me sad because of what that glass meant to me. He didn’t seem to understandof course, he wouldn’t.

But my girls heard me, and then saw me weep later. They were so sweet and showed empathy. We had a conversation about sentimental things. They understood it was so much more than an object.

This happened on the day we recognize in the adoption community as “First Mothers Day,” honoring our child’s birth mother. The realization of all this came to a head, and I could hardly breathe at the magnitude. My child who came to us through adoption shattered my glass. A visual of his past, of all the broken pieces we will never be able to fix surrounding his story. He has no thumbprint glass, no sentimental object reminding him of her. Of the one who gave him life. Of the one who is gone and not coming back.

I cried for a long time.

But redemption comes in the morning.

After spending some deep time in grief (Mother’s Day is hard for a while, if not forever, once you lose your mom) my Adeline told me to go upstairs. She was very adamant. My kids have never really done anything for Mother’s Day. I went upstairs grateful for some time alone.

An hour later, Adeline called me downstairs. She was listening. She got it.

RELATED: I Am My Mother’s Living Heirloom

My daughter and her siblings (along with poor Josh, who used all his COVID energy) made me breakfast. The table was set nicely. Bacon, eggs, grits, and orange juice in the one remaining thumbprint glass. A homemade banner that I only understood a third of with hand-drawn thumbprint glasses.

I could not hold back the tears.

“Mommy! We recreated it for you!” Adeline squealed with joy. I have never cried at something my kids have done for me. I’m just not that kind of person. But this was so thoughtful, so redeeming, I could not hold it back.

“Happy Mother’s Day! Do you love it?”

Of course, I do, sweethearts. Of course, I do. You are my Mother’s Day, all five of you. And I hope one day you will look at that one remaining thumbprint glass, drink orange juice from it, and know you are the only thing that really matters.

Originally published on the author’s Facebook page

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Check out our new Keepsake Companion Journal that pairs with our So God Made a Mother book!

Order Now
So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Taylor Irby

Taylor Irby is a certified life coach through Connected Families and Coaching Mission International. Through her years of coaching, Taylor has helped families and leaders thrive. She is the mother of five children, and she spent 11 years with her family in Bosnia serving students and families. She loves to come alongside discouraged families, providing them with the tools they need for connection, growth, and lasting change.

She’s Smiling Down On Me From Heaven, Even Amid My Mess

In: Grief, Kids, Motherhood
Broken teacup on floor, color photo

I cried over a broken teacup today.  The kitchen was loud and my patience was worn down from giving reminder after reminder of house rules we all know but they were just not wanting to follow.  Slow down, no running inside—you could get hurt.  Please stop reaching up high, the oven is hot.  We don’t throw things in this house, something could break.  Then shatter.  A piercing crash and immediate toddler tears.  I rushed over to find that amidst our very loud, busy home, off in the corner of the room, the newly walking, curious 1-year-old had somehow opened the...

Keep Reading

Some Moments Are Made For Memories

In: Living, Motherhood

As we walked down the beach, the waves came in and out. The sun was shining, the birds chirping,  and I listened to the constant chatter and laughter from all the people we passed. My husband’s family had gathered in Florida to celebrate the life of a woman who was the reason we were all there. Nana was 85. What more of a reason did we need to assemble all 26 family members, from her children to great grands, all in one location? Six days of joy, chaos, and exploration. RELATED: Dear Modern, Busy People: Bring Back Family Gatherings As...

Keep Reading

Lord, Help Me Be Thankful Even On the Hard Days

In: Kids, Motherhood
Mother holding crying baby

When the baby spits up for the tenth time that day, help me to be thankful. When the toddler misses the potty once again, help me to be thankful. When I am running on an unbelievably low amount of sleep, help me to be thankful.  RELATED: To the Tired Mom in the Middle of the Night When my husband leaves his coffee cup unwashed on the counter no matter how many times I ask him not to, help me to be thankful. When the laundry continues to stack up, Lord, help me to be thankful. When I can’t think of...

Keep Reading