Mother’s Day is a grand celebration. However, to those who don’t fit the definition, today can be brutal.
Mother’s Day. Each one that rolls around grips me with a sadness, a melancholy. Today, for me, is a day of musing on what I lost, instead of what I have gained. You see, I’m one of the unfortunates, as I lived long enough to attend the funeral of my only son.
I’ve long reconciled the fact that what
happened, happened. That cannot be changed, and that’s fine.
However, the reason why I’m writing this today, is that I know that I’m one of many. Merely a dot in a galaxy of suffering, populated by those of chance and circumstance who do not fit the Hallmark definition of Mother’s Day.
Those who weren’t spoiled with homemade cards and freshly squeezed orange juice this morning, those who only feel the notable absences.
Today, the phone may not ring, but in your alienation, you are certainly not alone. We see you.
So, to those, my fellow unfortunates, I raise the cup of tea I made myself to you. To those who gave life, and those who couldn’t, but carried a mother’s love to whatever endeavour they could. To those who gave their flesh up to another to afford them what they knew they couldn’t. To those who loved but lost, to those surrogates, those who sometimes felt like an appliance. To those whose motherdom extends to those who walk on four legs. To those mothers who are married to another. To those mothers who took in another and loved them as their own, despite a different name, culture or background. To those in the process of losing theirs or getting them back; to all, walk tall, and raise the collective chin, as this day is yours too.
Happy Mother’s Day.