My mother passed away in 2007, in the middle of the night and unexpectedly. She died five months before my wedding. She passed away when I was 25. When I was still trying to figure out how to be a grown up and at a time when our relationship was still very much in the realm of mother/child and not quite at mother/adult.
God has gifted me with beautiful two babies, the best mother in law a girl could ask for and a grandmother who has always played a major role in my life. These are all great reasons to love the first Sunday in May.
Mother’s Day hurts.
In the depths of my core, it hurts. It hurts because I miss her and because there are triggers that she’s gone everywhere I look. I can’t escape Mother’s Day until it is over.
I’m a mother now and for the sake of my children, I put on a smile and accept homemade cards and small trinkets with grace. My mother has been gone for nine years and I’ve become a professional at having a great day.
But honestly? It’s day I dread every year because it is a day that I have to wear a mask.
What I’d really love for Mother’s Day is a day to wallow. To miss her without explaining to my husband and children why I’m upset. And more importantly, a day where I didn’t have to accept anyone’s sympathy with a forced smile. I get that you’re sorry for my loss. And thanks for that.
But honestly, please just let me be. On Mother’s Day, I’m motherless. And I just want to be.
I want to look through old pictures and talk to her friends. I want to pour over her high school year book and see the trouble she got into. I want to try to remember the sound of her voice as she spoke my name. I want to try to remember what she smelled like. Was it Tide and Downy or was it All and Bounce? I can’t remember. I want to just hear her laugh one last time.
I don’t want flowers or brunch.