Skip to main content

Honoring the sad moms

  It had almost been a year, and I was trying to figure out how to celebrate Mother's Day without my brother's help. My mom had lost one child, and I was who she had left. I knew it would be tough, but talk about how to say "Happy Mother's Day" to a sad mom. It wasn't easy.
  I am horrible at empathy. I am quite vocal about such, so when I encounter a situation, most of my friends know what to expect. Silence mostly...un-awkward silence.
  It has been 36 days since my grandmother died. It hasn't been easy; it has just been. And from past experiences, I knew it would be quite a hard mother's day for my mom. I walked into her room late last night, and she said, "Can't we just pretend that tomorrow is just another day?" It made it easier for me. I wasn't sure what to say or do for her on this day. In fact, when I saw her for lunch, I didn't even say happy mother's day. It wasn't that I didn't/don't want to acknowledge her importance in my life, but I was honoring her "just another day."
  So how do you honor the sad moms? How do you step around the pain and wish a mom a "happy mother's day" when clearly they aren't happy? I don't think I have completely figured it all out. I still believe that no matter the emotional status of a mom she deserves to be honored. So...
  Mom, I honor you. I admire, the closer I am to starting my own family, your tenacity for unconditional love. I am so grateful for you. Although you and I are quite different, I knew the kind of person I wanted to marry because I knew the kind of person you were. And that's what I wanted. I couldn't be more honored to be your daughter. I love you in every heart beat; I love you in every breathtaking moment; I love you in every blink... thank you. For you...thank you.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Tiger must stay in your backpack...

   I'm not that parent. The one who gloats too much, and shows off all the pictures. The parent who relays every detail of their kid to let others know how incredible I think they are. Perhaps it is a flaw. Who knows. And I also pride myself in not being a helicopter parent. I teach and let go. I discipline and let go.    And I thought I would be ready for this: first day of Pre-K. I have been very positive and uplifting and have wanted my son to be extra ready to go to school. We have talked about it for months! I am ready... Or so I thought.  This morning, as white boy was leaving to take them to daycare, he said to Owen, "You can't take Tiger to school tomorrow or he will have to stay in your backpack, so do you want to take him to daycare today?" I thought little of it, but as Owen threw him down on the ground and turned to head out the door, my throat hitched. "Are you sure you don't want to take him today?" He said no. It was a sense of finality.  ...
Post a Comment
Read more

60 years ago is not the 1940s

  When you are born, you are lucky to get one day a year to celebrate just you. Well, you and all the others born on that day. When you become a mother or father, you get another day for just you. Sometimes those days come when you are not ready, and some come when you wish they wouldn't.   Today, 60 years ago, my mother was born. A date that means littler to most people I know than to her or me. As we age, and my mother is no different, our birthdays become just another cycle of the rising of the sun and a following of the moon. Nothing to make a big to do of.   My mother enjoys subtly. She can be dramatic but embraces the subtle acknowledgement of herself. She has ALWAYS placed herself second and counted the accolades of her children as if they were her own. That was one thing my mother NEVER lacked: humility. Which made me often sad she didn't get more than 2 days a year commemorating her.   Mom, I know I've come short. I know that I have openly and often faile...
Post a Comment
Read more

A goodbye love letter to you...

  I sat across from my dad at lunch, yesterday, and asked him, "Do you know what tomorrow is?" He said, "Yeah. 1 year." And his eyes grew damp. "I'll never forget walking into that room..." He didn't continue. I didn't ask him to. "I'll never forget the police officer banging on my door at 1130 at night..." I didn't continue. He didn't ask me to.  "This journal was given to me several years ago by my children. I know they wanted me to write down my thoughts to get through the rough times I was going through at the time. I did not start this at that time. Why am I starting it now? Well, I only thought I had been through hell back then, but now I realize I didn't have any idea what heartache was until Aug 15, 2010 -"   This is the beginning of one of my mother's journals. A journal she started a little over a month after Andy died. And she wrote it--to him.  "Dear Mother - Today is the day before Mothe...
Post a Comment
Read more