Mother’s Day is a complicated holiday. It’s meant to be sweet, happy. But for many of us out there, it’s just complicated. If there’s a better way to describe it, I haven’t found it yet.
Can I share a little bit of my story with you?
As a kid, for me, Mother’s Day was the usual goopy eggs and OJ in bed (sorry mom! I’m a pro at scrambled eggs now), some crappy craft I made at school, and doing whatever my mom wanted for the day. But as an adult, I realize it probably was complicated for my mom.
Her mom passed away when I was 5, she was 33. They didn’t have the best relationship, but hey, it was her mom. I know she missed her. And by the time I came around, my sisters were nearly grown and so with each Mother’s Day that came about there were fewer and fewer of her children to celebrate with her in person. I just remember her feeling sad a lot, but I didn’t really get it, you know?
I’ll never forget the shittiest daughter move I ever made. Mother’s Day 2010. I was at a wedding the night prior, and I had to work second shift that day. The wedding was my first true open bar experience (read: SIX vodka cranberries, and the bartender wasn’t skimping on the vodka). I woke the next morning to my parents calling me to ask where I was. It was 11am, and I was still a little drunk. Fuuuuuuu. I had never wished to be hungover so hard in my life. With a hangover, I could have gotten my selfish ass out of bed and gone to see my mom before work. But I wasn’t even safe to drive. And I had to bail on my mom. On Mother’s Day.
This still haunts me. I wish I hadn’t been such a drunken sloth.
Mother’s Day 2013 was the last one I got to spend with her. And I knew it was going to be the last. She had been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer a couple of weeks prior and the survival rate of the first year was a measly 2%. We knew what we were dealing with, but HOW do you prepare for that? She passed away just 10 months later.
Mother’s Day 2014 was really tough for me. I holed up at home, got day drunk, and cried. Anger, sadness, pain, grief. It all poured out of me as everyone around me was preparing to celebrate their mothers. Or worse, when I would see people complain about having to go see their mothers. DON’T YOU KNOW THIS WON’T LAST? I wanted to scream at them.
In the years since then, I’ve suffered a miscarriage, which adds another layer of complication to my feelings about Mother’s Day. This year, I’ll be celebrating my second Mother’s Day as a mama with my living daughter and I am so grateful. But I’m also still sad.
mother’s day for the motherless mamas out there
I know a lot of you out there may be feeling that complication as we approach Mother’s Day.
Because I get you and I’ve been there, I want to open up this blog, and my Instagram feed as a spot for you to share your stories.
Tell me about your mama that you’re missing this weekend. Tell me about your babies that are supposed to be here but aren’t.
You may not want to bring people down with your feelings, but don’t know how to express them without making others sad, too. Don’t worry about that here. I’ll be monitoring comments all weekend and deleting any trolls as I see them.
I want you to say what’s on your heart if for no other reason than to have a spot to get it off your chest. Let’s bear witness to each other’s stories, as raw as they are, whatever they are.
This year, let’s go from complicated to catharsis.