It made me want to throw up.
Ugh.My children know I hate the holiday, and try to still celebrate it.
I'd much rather take off a weekend in the fall to go do something like this instead!!My "first" Mother's Day, when I was pregnant with the Commander, I was greeted with a dozen yellow roses and a card for the mother-to-be. It was signed by "our twins" Jake & Sam...the boys my husband thought we would be having! I was very newly pregnant, and had been spotting since the day I had found out...thus I was terrified of losing the baby. The Mother's Day card was a bit of a leap of faith...that this pregnancy would stick, and we'd have our twin boys.
Or one single girl:)
The Knight was like me-he celebrated little things and often bestowed gifts for no reason other than to bring joy (like buying us Happy Meals one day when we were sad.). His frequent prophesy that we'd have twin boys always made me giggle-what fun that would be! So to discover my pregnancy and just hours later be spotting blood? I was utterly gripped with fear. That "first" Mother's Day? I was scared for my baby's life...the night before it had been more than ever before. I even remember thinking that to miscarry on Mother's Day would be the cruelest of jokes; that morning, however, there was nothing, and I hoped beyond hope for a reprieve...which there was. I never bled again, and carried her to term; the fear of loss however, never left. To this day one reason I hate Mother's Day is the pain it inflicts on every mother-to-be who lost her baby through failed IVF, miscarriage, abortion or stillbirth. Let's have a day to celebrate the one thing you were denied, but yet comes so easily to others....why would the world be so cruel?
My husband, the Knight, died three months after the Commander's birth (I like to say she was born smoking a cigar and complaining the lights were too bright...she's definitely been commanding since birth!). She was actually a fairly easy newborn; she nursed well and slept through the night at six weeks. Our first true Mother's Day she had just turned four months old...I remember waking up in a sunshine filled room to see her dark, wild haired self had flipped herself to her stomach in her cradle next to my bed.
Reaching over to pull my smiling Little One to my breast, I began to weep. This beautiful baby girl had lost the best daddy in the world. It was Mother's Day, my very first, and I had overwhelming grief to commemorate it. As a sentimental fool, I grieved the loss of a man who had indulged in it...and thought back a year to the card and flowers when I was so newly pregnant. He had gotten sick so soon after we found out, and our focus had shifted away from our impending parenthood, and to him staying alive. Nothing, nothing had come about as we had planned, or I had hoped. I was 24, and I was widowed. This beautiful baby was the only thing keeping me alive--she nursed so I had to remember to eat. It was Mother's Day, and I was finally a mother...yet no one was there but her and I to celebrate it. It was then I ruefully acknowledged the role of the Dad...all those years it had been my father instructing us on building a breakfast tray for mom, and helping us make cards and buying carnations as gifts. Mother's Day meant nothing with a child and no partner...a fact confirmed when well-meaning people later gave me a gift or two that reflected how poorly they knew me. My husband would have known that I only wore silver and disdained all gold...
So while well-meaning, my first Mother's Day gift hurt a newly widowed heart, and I cried in agony that night. I packed my beautiful baby in the car, and drove for hours through the countryside, arguing with God and pouring out my grief in prayer. He had been dead only two weeks...and it hurt. My life plan was gone. Every dream was gone. Everything had been obliterated...and now I was alone, with a baby, to try and make a life for us. I was terrified of doing it alone. The stigma still held strong for single moms, and I had already taken off my wedding rings, unable to bear the happy reminder of him. My first Mother's Day? A day I am loathe to remember. The all-consuming waves of grief nearly drowned me, and I had to fight to see the day.
And yet...
The next day I awoke refreshed, as if I had released a huge burden. Days later, my girlfriends and sisters and I went to Cedar Point for what would have been my third wedding anniversary to the Knight. We had spent both our first and second anniversaries there, enjoying fine May days with no lines. This time it rained, but we went anywise. I was determined to celebrate rather than weep...it had already endured for a night. My joy had come in the morning...and I was not going to let go. Other potentially "hard days" I booked myself adventures-like trips to Arizona, Alabama, Florida and, oh, Europe:). I flew in a B17 on my birthday after his death, slipping the surly bonds of earth on laughter-silvered wings. By Christmas I was healing, I didn't miss him or grieve his absence. Surely he was just in the next room, and was here with us. As our baby grew, that lesson of that first Mother's Day stayed-never again would I grieve on a holiday or special occasion. I would celebrate it-just as I had learned to celebrate being a mom. Nothing was better than who my little Commander was that day. Ever.
So the next Mother's Day I had just returned home from Arizona; my first Grand Canyon hike was how I "celebrated" the first anniversary of my Knight's death. I didn't anticipate the wave of grief, thinking I had learned to overcome it...but it was there again. I had to accept that a dad played a huge role when the children were little...and it broke my heart. My spunky strong willed one year old was becoming a huge handful; it would have been nice to have the hours of energy I devoted to her acknowledged...but again, there was nothing. I pulled out the gold pendant that had been given to me the year before, and gave it to my cousin. It made me weep to see it; it represented the darkest day of my widowhood. Above all else, I hate Mother's Day for those without a spouse and children too young to show appreciation. I know there aren't many...but the pain is searing. Whether he's dead, or abandoned you...it hurts. He gave you this child and now he's gone.
My third Mother's Day, I don't remember. I was newly remarried, and the fact I don't remember it, or any Mother's Day for some time sealed my disdain for the day. The King saw no need to celebrate a "card shop holiday." Even after I bore him two children, it never changed. His birthday was always within a week of Father's Day, every year he received two gifts. The Commander noticed around 7 or 8 years of age that there was a mother's holiday, and I remember her making me breakfast in bed. By then I found it tough to acknowledge, and had a very difficult time with the glee my own mother greeted the day. When I was young, we lived far away from my maternal grandmother, and saw her only once a year or so. My Nana had a stroke at 62 that left her mute and wheelchair bound; I was 10 when it happened. So the memeories of my mother interacting with hers are very few and far between...and she never was with us on Mother's Day. We always had my paternal grandmother, Grama, over for a special lunch on Mother's Day, but my Grama and Mom weren't necessarily close. So while I saw mother's honored on that day...it was never an overt celebration. As one who loves to give, I enjoyed giving my grandmother a small gift and typically flowers for my mother. My grandmother, however, died two years after I had the Commander. Without that annual Mother's Day lunch, and with my disdain of it in general, I came to resent this "new normal." I was a mother, and I saw no reason to celebrate my motherhood.
Afterall, the husband who had cared was dead, and I was stuck with one who cared less.
It sounds harsh to speak of the King that way, but his own relationship with his mother was (and still is) quite complicated. While Grammy is the best grandmother, she willingly admits struggling to mother my ex husband...and it showed. So Mother's Day became a day of cajoling the King to honor a mother he loved but didn't necessarily like. Mother's Day was a day our kids gave their grandmothers little gifts.
It was never once about me.
And that was fine. He didn't celebrate any card shop holiday. Never a Valentine, to hell with Sweetest Day even though we met on Sweetest Day. My heart was hardened to these things...why would Mother's Day be different? I knew I couldn't change him, and just accepted him as is. You don't celebrate it? Fine, I still will. How can I not still give to the man I loved? But Mother's Day? I began to loathe the day as it approached. I left town whenever I could, and relished the few years I lived in Arizona and my Mom in Michigan-I could just send her things without celebrating. I love my mom, and love to give her things.
But on Mother's Day? Ugh. It wasn't like her birthday, only about her. It was about all of us as Mother's.
And it just hurts too many.
The motherless. The childless. The mother who has suffered the loss of a child. The widower without his wife, the widow without her husband. My Facebook feed is full of dead mom's this morning-and of women who have lost children. For every one happy post I see a sad one, and I hate it.
I love being a Mom. My three are the best children ever-and no one has it better than me! From day one I relished every moment, I've never longed for days past as I lived them fully each day. Even now, as my Manchild of 6'5" is snoring on the couch in the cottage and I smell the coffee I made in the kitchen-I relish this moment. Soon he'll be off in this world, and this is the only man I have to present. He's kind and intelligent, and has my sense of humor. We both love many of the same things, and whether he likes it or not, that boy is climbing Piestewa with me this morning.
Even if I have to pull the Mother's Day card.
Yeah, I know.
Why do I hate Mother's Day? For the same reason some men hate Valentine's Day. The Buckeye happened to mention he didn't celebrate it, and I retorted I didn't celebrate Mother's Day. He talked about dead saints and I talked about dead husbands. I also thought ruefully that it mattered not...it's not as if the King had ever celebrated it.
And as my heart hurt again, thinking of the little things that had always meant so much with the Knight and never, ever happened with the King...I pondered the two days.
Why the King hated Valentine's Day, I've never known. When we were engaged, he told me he wasn't demonstrative, but I could expect to be spoiled four times a year: my birthday, our anniversary, Christmas and Valentine's Day. That first Valentine's Day, newly engaged, he bought me a gift set from Bath and Body Works-which I was so delighted with, I saved for our honeymoon just a few weeks later. The next year he was at the academy on said day, no big deal that he forgot, right? The next year, I was horribly morning sick with Manchild....so maybe that's why he didn't celebrate? Yet I always had a card and a small token of my love for him....and it mattered not that there was nothing in return. It was only as the year's went on and he didn't try, didn't explain that I tried to pretend it didn't hurt. Like Mother's Day. These days didn't matter, did they?
The brief discussion of Mother's Day with the Buckeye (who actually flew home for an extended weekend with his mother in honor of said day) made me think again about my disdain. Being widowed at 24 has some lasting scars; this being primary. While the King, had he treated it differently might have soothed it in years following, ultimately it came down to the debilitating grief on my very first that I still haven't reconciled. This year I planned a nice weekend in Phoenix for my Mom, I'm trying to honor her despite my loathing. It really has nothing to do with her...just like the King never celebrating Valentine's Day had nothing to do with me.
I think.
All I know is even the tiniest bit of acknowledgement by the King on that day would have blessed me. So who am I, if not rotten to the core, if I don't honor my mother that day?
I'm trying. I hate today. I hate the hurt it brings so many, and the memories of a day that still make me weep. The day he died rarely effects me. His birthday, our anniversary, never a tear. I did well celebrating those days in my early widowhood-they never became "death days" in my book.
Maybe because that's what Mother's Day became instead. The day I miss the being the mother I would have been had he lived. The day I wonder how different my life would have been. The day I hate him for dying, leaving me to go on without him. The day that's all about being 24 and scared when the world thought you so brave. The day I don't want attention, because I'm thinking of him, and I'm vulnerable to tears. Because when you remarry...it's disingenuous to remember your dead husband when you have a new husband...so you forget every 26th of April. It would be disloyal to cry when your heart now belongs to another....but when two weeks later that day rolls around? That day you remember as the darkest day? Then you can remember and weep...blaming something else. You're not remembering him and that life; no, not you. You'd never be disloyal like that (and your loyalty was of great importance to the new husband.) Those days you raged at the Knight? Hating your new life and blaming him? Those are wrapped up in it, too. Mother's Day became a safe day to remember the shame of my widowhood, the reproach of it.
I'm trying not to hate it as much.
Hate is poison. I know that. My poor kids don't quite know how to treat Mother's Day...goodness I worry at this moment for Manchild's someday wife. This time I have been granted, in which I am developing new habits and breaking old...it's hard when you realize how unhealthy something was that you clung to. Mother's Day was the way I mourned each year...the only "safe way" to do so with a not so understanding husband. He didn't celebrate my motherhood, and it was easy to dismiss his callousness by remembering the one who had honored it...just one time, when he thought we'd have twins.
All the years Valentine's wasn't celebrated? I learned to set that aside, not let it hurt; although I admit the Buckeye blurting it out pricked my heart. Did we have to bring things we did/or did not do with others to this relationship? Could we not wait to see what developed between us instead? Those thoughts, and my immediate rebuttal about Mother's Day have made me ponder my own actions and feelings.
I'm trying hard this year not to hate Mother's Day.
I've already received several personal texts wishing me a Happy Day...and the familiar stab of heartbreak is still there. Can I turn this around, 21 years on? Can I learn to cherish a day I've despised, for the sake of not passing on bad habits to my children?
Or is it the fact that I'm tired of being so bitterly disappointed with life...that I can be an optimist on all days but today?
What if...what if next year I planned a weekend of adventure with just my mom. Yesterday we went to the Farmer's Market in Phoenix, and I showed her around my new home town. We talked a lot about Florida, as Phoenix greatly reminded her of it. Only in the last year is she well enough to have a day like that, and I wished I had planned it a bit better. I did bring her down for the weekend and put her up in a 4.5 star hotel (thank you Priceline), and I have spent every meal but one with her over the weekend. Last night we looked at my ancestry charts, and I showed her pictures of her great grandparents. It was a rare moment we had something in common, and I thought again of wishing I had taken her to some of the art museums in Phoenix. I know my appreciation of fine art comes from her; my love of museums from both my parents.
Today she wanted to have brunch, and I luckily found reservations at a place up in Cave Creek. I hope she'll like that charming little town, and it's on the way back to Prescott for them. The last few months they helped tremendously with the children, and I want to bless them both. I am grateful, it's just I don't like being forced to acknowledge it on a day everyone else does.
On a day that's hurt for so long.
Just as I used to rush to make snap decisions in fear of losing, and I failed to savor some moments in lieu of what I thought might be better days...I am challenged to forgive my Knight for dying two weeks before Mother's Day. Oh-if you've had a loved one die near a holiday-I know you get it. I hadn't realized until just now how tangled he was up in this...how blessed I am to have this time!!! My thoughts drift to the Buckeye's foster kid he mentors, Jerry...the one who's mom died three years ago. He talked quite a bit about her with us; he told me about chicken enchiladas she used to make. I told him we'd figure out the recipe, so he could make it in memory of her; he had smiled broadly at the suggestion. Maybe future Mother's Day's I can focus more on that...being a mom to those who lost theirs. All I know is I'm being asked to give up this crutch...and it's hard.
It was so easy and righteous to hate such a day.
But at what cost? As a mum, I want Jerry to remember only the very best things about his. I want to encourage the good things she taught him-for he is a good kid. And as one who has celebrated days that should have made me sad...can I not teach him to celebrate his angel mother on such a day?
I won't rush into changing my heart...I know so much better now that these things take time. I won't plan for a year from now, other than the fact I will purpose to plan something for my mom and I. I will also look for occasions to heal this breach, and actively purpose to forgive the Knight, and even the King, once again. I can change only me...and I did say this was a time to make habits and break them.
May God grant me the ability to think differently of Mother's Day.
My mother. I have only wonderful memories of my early childhood, and knew nothing but lots of love. 
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