There isn’t anything that much resembles the pain of watching your child endure a circumstance that you can’t fix.  From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I became hyper-vigilant in protecting the little human I was carrying. And while protection looks different once they come earthside, your desire to shield them against the pains of the world endures.

My oldest son is the best parenting teacher you could ask for. He’s both cuddly and mature, bookish and sportsy, competitive and compassionate, practical and dreamy. He has light brown eyes, dirty blond hair with an even lighter blond streak on the left side. He has curly hair that he hates to wash, hates to comb, and hates to cut.

This past summer, I noticed a coin-sized patch near the nape of his neck. I brushed it off, assuming the barber cut too close. But then I saw it again, and again- every time we prepared for another haircut. His thick curls beautifully crowded up around his head…except for that one tiny spot. I got curious.

I scoured the internet and tested my son’s behaviors. Was he pulling his hair at night? Was he stressed? Was he having an allergic reaction? Each question led to more questions, which led to more worry.

It took us four weeks to be seen as a new patient at a local pediatric dermatologist, and by then, that one tiny bald patch had multiplied. There were now handfuls of dirty blond curls missing from his head, and now, he was nervous.

We never saw his hair fall out. We just noticed more and more of it wasn’t there. We never saw those clumps of hair in the shower or around the house. It was almost as if his head sucked back in his hair. As a way of easing anxiety and providing levity during one of our long and painful doctor’s appointments, we joked that his head must be hungry, and his hair was the perfect treat. Minutes after that fly away joke, I watched a nurse insert a syringe full of a numbing agent into his head and later cut a piece of his scalp for testing. Despite the numbing cream, he screamed and cried in a pitch that rattled the office and forced my heart to pound through my toes. I’d never seen him experience something so painful. I’d never heard him scream that loud and at that pitch.  He was terrified, and there was nothing this momma could do about it but hold his hand and whisper how brave and remarkable he is, all while swallowing my own tears.

He was diagnosed with Alopecia Areata two weeks later. Alopecia Areata is an autoimmune condition in which the body mistakenly attacks hair follicles, resulting in hair loss.

Today, he is everything he’s always been. Boisterous and shy, comedic and dramatic, confident and curious. He’s lost all his hair, but thank God he didn’t lose his spunk.

I write this as a mom who has had to encourage her child even when she felt discouraged. I write as a mom who wiped away her son’s tears while masking her own. I write as a mom who only recently realized that she couldn’t protect her kids from everything, not even their own body chemistry.

Mother’s Day is about honoring the full experience of motherhood. The messy and joyful days. The painful and quiet moments. It’s the annual reminder that the role of mothering is the most selfless sacrifice in the human experience.

On this Mother’s Day, I honor all the mothers who’ve had to watch their children face a life challenge they couldn’t save them from. Moms who had to silence their fears and swallow their tears to encourage and uplift their babies. Moms who’ve prayed to take on their kids’ pain or illness and are met with the disappointing reality that they can’t.

I’ve learned so much in my motherhood, but the past few months have surely taught me the best lessons. Our kids will change, life won’t always be kind to them, but a mother’s love is unparalleled, resilient, and holds steady through the ups and downs.