It is a hallmark holiday, created to honor the women of the world brave enough to take on the task of bringing life into the world (or in some cases taking on the role of being a caregiver to a child). In theory, this holiday is amazing and thoughtful, an overall kind hearted gesture designed to pay tribute to people who well deserve it. Mother’s Day, the second Sunday of May comes every year with a flurry of commercials and signs to remind us all that we should be grateful for our mothers. And to be honest, before October 6, 2000, I was a participant in this holiday just like everyone else. I never thought about what a holiday like this would mean to people who had been separated from their mother by death. Furthermore, I never thought about what this holiday would mean for someone who did not have that warm and fuzzy relationship with their mom. I lived in the bubble I see most people living in; unaware of how difficult a holiday dedicated to mothers can be for a person without a mother.
For the last 8 Mother’s Days, my feelings toward the event have ranged from anger to resentment to sadness to numbness to just plain old annoyance. These feelings were often intensified when people close to me would ask the odd question “What are you doing for Mother’s Day?” (FYI – Myself along with every other Motherless child I know, HATE THAT QUESTION) The question itself is insulting yet paired with the confused look when my answer is “Nothing”, makes the entire exchange unbearable. People often seem shocked when I say nothing as if I am in some way a bad motherless child for not having some sort of ritualistic ceremony to honor my mothers life and death on mothers day (That is what her funeral was and I do NOT seek to relive that event every year) Instances like that, paired with the overwhelming amount of commercials begin to feel like a tiny knife stabbing me in my heart each of the 100 times a day it occurs. And if you think the lead up is horrible, the day itself is just pure torture because no matter what feeling I am having that particular year and no matter what I opt to do in order to distract myself, there is no way to escape the truth – I am a motherless daughter.
To be a daughter who has lost her mother means to be without a piece of your heart. To have your mother die, particularly when you are a young woman, leaves you with a lot of unanswered questions about what it means to be a woman. The bond between mother and child should never be broken and when it is, it permanently disrupts the balance of that child’s life. No matter what I do, I will never again know myself as I was before my mother died. And because I was 19 when she died, I will (God willing) live longer on this Earth without a mother than I did with one and that stinks. There is no one else on earth that can comfort you like a loving mother can and when a mother dies, she leaves behind a daughter in such tremendous grief that the only thing great enough to comfort her, her mother, is the only thing she can never have again.
I once described the feeling I have as “a piece of my heart that is broken and it will never be mended.” For many years, I tried to fix the brokenness that I feel because my mother is gone. However about a year ago I realized that this pain, this broken heart, will be broken forever. I stopped trying to fix it and instead embraced the pain as it is. My mother, the woman whom I adored, looked up to, wanted to be like, look like – is dead and has been for almost nine years. That is my reality, however heartbreaking it may be, and I had to learn to own it without letting it define me. Not one day goes by that I do not think of her. The difference between those moments now and 8 years ago is that now I can think of her without being sad every time, an achievement that is a testament to the saying “time heals all wounds.”
As yet another mother’s day approaches, I have decided to take on a new attitude this year. I no longer hate mother’s day. This year I am not saying “F YOU” at every Kay Jeweler and Hallmark commercial. This year, I am not going to act as if I don’t know the holiday is coming or stay in my house on mothers day to avoid all the happy people asking me what special thing I have done for my mother. I am making these changes because I realized something very important; my ill feeling towards mother’s day is misdirected. The holiday itself is supposed to honor mothers and guess what - I had a mother who was surely worthy to be honored. My anger at mother’s day and all those who celebrate it, is in direct conflict with my feelings toward mothers. I loved my Mother, my Grandmother and my Great Aunt Goldie (who have all since passed away) but I also love the great mothers who are still here with me. And while none of them serve as a mother to me, they are mothers to wonderful children who are blessed to have them. I choose not to begrudge mothers day any longer because it is not one day out of the year that reminds me I don’t have my mother. Nor is my pain any less potent or relevant the other 364 days of the year. I still don’t want to be asked what I am doing on the holiday because that, much like the grieving process, is an internal, intimate experience. Just know that whatever I am doing on the second Sunday in May from now until, I will have the pain of loss and the joy of great memories to get me through.
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