It is true. I hate the build-up, hate the commercials and hate the fact that is a multi-million dollar industry. As if you could put a price tag on a mother's life. I hold my breath waiting for the day to come and exhale when it is over. Pick any other word: loathe, despise, abhor, detest. I feel all of them.
I hate Mother's Day because it reminds me of what I have lost, my own mother. On good days, I imagine us sitting on a beach in Ireland at sunset, wild horses racing back and forth on the narrow crescent of sand, my head on her shoulder, her arm around me, sitting up against an old log thrown up on the beach. She lets me talk and talk and gives me advice and I feel stronger. On bad days, in the dark I lay in my bed alone, silent tears slip down my cheeks and I wonder what I did to deserve this.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. She should have had more than 2 years with my nephew Connor, more than 6 years with my nephew Canaan, more than 19 years with my brother Benj, more than 30 years with my brother Jason. And certainly more than 33 years with me. She will never get to know Audree, my little 3 year-old spitfire great-niece. Sometimes, like now, when I think about it, the tears well and I become overwhelmed with sadness.
This is not a ploy for pity. It is how it is. Those of us who have lost our mothers know what this feels like. Most days are good days, now, almost 14 years later, but still I cannot ask why for more than 2 seconds or I become quagmired in a question never to be answered. I choose not to be stuck and move forward, though most times I am never sure of my place in this world.
Our mother equals our first home in this world. And all of a sudden the ground beneath my home gave way and I started falling an endless fall into an abyss and I am not sure that fall will ever stop. Perhaps most forms of grief are like this when you lose someone you love. I wish I could go to lunch with her, buy her flowers, take a walk with her. Some days I could really use her wisdom. I would trade 10 years of my life for one more hug from her or one more day with her. My rational mind knows it to be impossible but the child inside keens for her.
They say I will see her again. Perhaps that is true, but fuck platitudes. As if that is supposed to give some relief or some comfort that maybe someday, when I die, I will see her again. It is what people say when they have no idea what to say. And I don't blame them because it is hard to know what to say. Most things come to an end, but this, for me, this will never end. I am glad Mother's Day is over for another year, because I hate it.