Mother's Day Thoughts

Life is Good: but it isn't perfect...

Mother’s Day was a week ago, but it is still on my mind…

We had a perfectly lovely Mother’s Day. The weather cooperated with sunshine, though in an ever so windy and chilly way. I was greeted in extraordinary ways--and yet no different than any other day--with smiles and laughter and lots of hugs and kisses. I got to see some mommy friends at church and received some lovely celebratory emails and texts from close friends, near and far.  We rode bikes and devoured sushi. I was showered and indulged with gifts. Including these sweet items from our Goddaughter...

precious gems from an eager five-year old...

and lovely sentiments from two of the three men in our house...

 

It was a perfectly lovely day. But not perfect. As much as I loved being with the hubs and our tiny progeny, I had a healthy amount of guilt for not being with my own mama. It has been several years since I have been able to spend an actual Mother’s Day with her. And while I consider the day to be a “Hallmark holiday” and hope that my mom feels my love and admiration each and every day of the year, not just on Mother’s Day, I still feel guilty when I can’t spend the day with her. Hundreds of miles and a young family’s schedule play a big role in not being together as well as my parents’ own less-than-flexible schedule this time of year. It all adds up in my head, but I don’t think any reason or excuse could ever satisfy my heart.

That extra lump of guilt and sadness comes from knowing that it is not just me who wasn’t there. My sister wasn’t there either. My sister, who passed away when I was in grade school, missed one more holiday, missed one more moment to celebrate. So another special day goes by with one more reminder that she’s gone from this earth, that she left too soon. And another crack appears in our broken hearts.

To be sure, my mom has handled the loss with grace and strength beyond my comprehension. My parents kept our family as “normal” as they could while I was growing up and they kept their marriage in tact. I could write volumes about my mother’s example. It is awe-inspiring. It is baffling to me. Increasingly so since I became a parent myself. She is a pillar of strength. She is brave beyond definition.

But if you look at my mom’s eyes, if you look deep into those denim-blue eyes of hers, you can see it. The pain. The heartache. You can see the loss. And while the pain from this great loss is an every day occurrence, it is on special days and holidays that the hole in our family widens and deepens. She’s supposed to be here. On Mother’s Day. On Christmas Day. Every day. Parents aren’t supposed to see their children go before them. Parents aren’t supposed to only get seventeen years with their daughter.

So I wasn’t there for me and I wasn’t there for her. Tears well up as I touch the letters that become those words. Becoming a mother myself brought a whole new intensity of pain and (lack of) understanding to me. A whole new set of questions. A whole new level of guilt when I am not there…

My parents are two of my best friends and we talk almost every day. Sometimes it is just long enough for a toddler to say his newest word and the exchange of “I love yous”. Other times, it is to recount every second of every minute of whatever is weighing the heaviest on our minds or hearts. More often, calls are spent somewhere in the middle. Who needs prayers, what hysterical story the 5-year old told at dinner, and…sigh…if my mom has it her way, a discussion of the weather. Wink. We see each other more often than most families who live a plane ride away from each other, too. And so I tell myself that this is more representative of my love for my mother than spending a particular Sunday in May with her. I remind myself that “Mother’s Day” is a great excuse to celebrate mothers, but it is not the only day of the year to do this. 

I tell my mom I love her and why I love her often.  I thank her for all that she has done for me. All that she has taught me. The way that she has loved me---so very unconditionally. She is the very essence of the words. I convince myself that my relationship goes far beyond a day in May created by someone like me-- a writer with a client who needed to sell more product (cards). That my daily interaction, never missing an opportunity to say “I love you”, time spent throughout the year when there is no holiday but it is just about being together is what really matters. Again, it makes sense to my head, but my heart just won’t accept it completely. The guilt takes tiny nips out of a hand-drawn heart. A tear wells and a remnant of it falls across my cheek.

And what can I do? Another Mother’s Day has passed plus seven. I resolve to be “okay” with it all. And I am. I’m okay with the sadness because its counterpart is glee. It means my heart is beating--open and wide, feeling for others in abundance, loving my mother with purity and adoration. And that leaves me satisfied. Loving with a wide and unlocked heart allows you to feel deeply and you benefit richly. Unlocking your heart and leaving it wide open also means that you feel pain intensely, but to feel love so strongly, it’s worth it.

From time to time, typically lying in bed at night, after talking God's ear off, reviewing the day’s events, I think about what I hope my children learn from me. The things that I tell them and the things they'll just soak up, take in. Here’s one for the books--I urge you to unlock your heart, dear ones.  Let yourself love freely. Open wide and allow yourself to love generously and unconditionally. Life is about loving. Showing love in every way possible to everyone around you. On Mother’s Day and everyday. My mom taught me that, my mom teaches me that every day. And I hope my children can learn that from me, too.