Monday, May 12, 2014

On Celebrating Mothers Day

This year, I'm not all that interested in celebrating Mothers Day. It makes me sad. It's not just this year. Honestly, Hallmark holidays don't do it for me. Valentine's Day - Blech. Christmas - ugh. Okay, I generally don't like any holiday that everyone is supposed to celebrate the same thing in the same way.

See, there are people out there that don't have a mom. Women who lost their children to stillbirth, disease, abortion, car accidents, abduction. Moms that don't do too hot-a-job at caring for their kids or others. Women who want desperately to be a mom but can't. Moms who are here but are no longer mothering.

My friend J's mom died a couple of weeks ago. I loved that woman even though in the nearly 20 years J and I have been friends, I never met her. And C, someone I'm not at all close to, only acquaintances with, really, lost her dog suddenly last week. That dog was a sweetheart that I had the pleasure of being around a couple of times. Maybe they're celebrating, I don't know. I don't think so. I feel their pain on mothers day. 

Wood always asks what I want for Mothers Day and my birthday. I don't want for much. Rarely can he shop for me knowing he's hit a home run. This year, I sent him a list. I must have, around the same time, complained that our sheets were in disrepair. So, I didn't get what was on my list. I got bed sheets. They are lovely and I am grateful. It's just that I rarely have a want much less say what I want so not getting it is disappointing.

It's a lot like taking grandma out to eat for Mothers Day only to have her be unhappy the entire time. There's so much we can't have, will never have again. It's hard to celebrate three bathroom trips, two walks and countless stares or misunderstanding and pity during brunch. Wood's hangover from it, despite the fact that I cared for her during this challenging meal, was exceedingly heavy afterward.

I feel Wood's pain. Twig's, Grandma's, mine, yours, everyone's.

The holiday feels contrived. Dishonest. Exclusionary.

We made a valiant effort but it's hard to celebrate loss when you're in the thick of it.

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