Mother's Day has arrived again. But not every woman can celebrate

When I was a little girl, I had an impressive mane of long and unruly hair that presented a daily challenge to my mother.

So I knew I'd struck gold many years ago when I found the perfect Mother's Day card at a shop in the Valley Mall.

"Mom, this year for Mother's Day, let's relive one of our old mother-daughter activities," it said, or words to that effect.

"You wash my hair and I'll scream."

I laughed out loud right there in the store, to the great bewilderment of the guy searching for his own Mother's Day missive just to my left.

(In case you're wondering, yes, she got a kick out of it, too.)

Another Mother's Day has arrived, bringing with it heartfelt expressions of affection and family activities — not to mention a bonanza for florists, card shops and restaurants.

And in churches all over the country, congregations will be handing out small gifts or flowers to the moms and ministers will be delivering their annual Mother's Day sermons.

Here's wishing all those mothers a lovely day and new memories to cherish (especially if they do not involve washing hair and screaming).

There are women who dread Mother's Day, however; and that's not something most folks talk about very much.

These are the women who always wanted to be mothers but for one reason or another, never got to be; whose arms ache from the absent weight of a little bundle they never got to hold. They live with a special kind of pain that women who've had children will never understand.

Maybe there was a physical problem that kept them from conceiving. Or maybe they conceived, but didn't make it to term. Or maybe they are haunted by a pregnancy that, for whatever reason, they were convinced they needed to terminate. Maybe their attempts to adopt a child didn't work out. Or maybe they walk alone, and didn't want to keep a child from having the chance to have two parents.

And these are the women who are estranged from their children.

Whether it's because of a mistake they made themselves, or because of a choice their children made, it can leave a throbbing ache that never quite goes away.

And these are the women whose children are trapped in addictions, children they desperately want to save but are helpless to cure. And make no mistake — their child's addiction does not mean they are bad mothers; addiction can prey on any family, with devastating effect.

And these are the women whose children are missing. Every night, they wonder where their children are, if someone is hurting them, if they're still alive. And they try to hold out hope that they'll someday be reunited.

It's a perpetual strain almost beyond endurance.

And these are the women whose children have died. Some were lost early, even at birth. Some died from illness or a tragic accident. Some from their addictions, some from the actions of others, some by their own hands.

The death of a child reverses the natural order of things; parents aren't supposed to have to bury their children. Few sorrows are deeper or more impossible to extinguish.

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On a day like today, these women may be forgiven for feeling hurt or left out.

If you are a mom who is celebrating Mother's Day with your children, cherish it and remember how fortunate you are. The reminders here are in no way meant to diminish the celebration of motherhood today.

They are meant, rather, to let these women, so vulnerable or invisible today, know that you matter, too.

This article originally appeared on The Herald-Mail: It's Mother's Day. Do you know a woman who can't celebrate it?