Everywhere you look--or listen--there's something about Mother's Day. There are ads for gifts, reminders to buy flowers, sentimental blogs, stores stocked with cards. It's all so lovely and sweet...unless you really don't like Mother's Day.
There are lots of good reasons to not like Mother's Day--the mere fact of how commercial it has become is probably enough. But for some of us, the reasons are, well, harder. These days they just cannot be avoided. Even at my local supermarket, a gallery of roses and a display of chocolate-covered strawberries. No matter where you go, the holiday will go with you.
It’s difficult to convince yourself to celebrate this day the same way, since many people like me have considered themselves to be “motherless.”
In the past, this day was always one for admiration and love; it was a day that encouraged you to show your gratitude for the woman who brought you into this world.
But after you lose a parent, it almost seems as though the day’s only purpose is to remind you and haunt you of your loss.
Mother's Day took place six months after my mom passed away.
It was almost unbearable to function at school, listening to people gush about their gift ideas for Mother's Day. Some people even forgetfully asked about mine. Work was unbearable, since I was the one making those chocolate strawberries for many moms.
As I would scroll through my Timeline, I was forced to see the many pictures and celebrations from others. I was unable to share the same words and moments with my mother. I would look at photos of my friends bringing their moms out to brunch, or the bouquet of roses they had bought, while many of us our visiting their moms at cemeteries, or at their urns.
Before she passed, I hadn’t considered myself to be a heavily religious person. I was always driven by curiosity, and facts and science answered my questions.
However, as soon as I lost her, I knew I had to have some kind of faith.
You see, the hardest part about all of this is the idea that she really will miss everything. My wedding, first child and all those other silly moments you never noticed were important until you couldn't share them with her. Moments where she would always be in my dreams.
All of these tribulations make it easy to resent a holiday like Mother's Day; a day where others are filled with love, comfort and happiness.
It is a day many people take for granted because they no longer revel in it with the same contentment.
As time passes, however, you learn to cope with these emotions and although no amount of time could fully heal a wound so deep, it does allow you to find strength.
Strength that will heal you in more ways than you could ever imagine. It allows your pain to reinforce you, not define you.
And although this process is very different for many, strength allows some of the beauty in life to creep back into your view.
It transforms your grief into serenity, fear into assurance and hopelessness into promise.
As Mother's Day approaches this year, I ask you to keep those who have lost their mothers close to your heart.
I also ask that as you rummage through the aisles of stores this year for the “perfect gift,” you remember that you are the best one they could ever ask for.
Spend those last few extra moments on the phone with her; fold the clothes on the dryer the first time she asks you to; listen to her terrible music because you know it makes her happy.
My deepest regret is that because I was so blindsided, I didn’t know our last conversation would be just that: Our last. No one is guaranteed another day, so please, remember tomake it count.
To all of those who have lost a mother, parent or loved one, know this: They are not lost, and we are not motherless.
