Mother's Day

I learned early on that Mother's Day isn't always easy. In fact, I seldom had one growing up where my own mother and I were not estranged. The picture perfect parent I witnessed on television didn't even come close to the reality I lived in.  And let's face it, Hallmark doesn't really cater to those whose relationships are toxic. Every year I remember trying so hard to pick out the perfect card and every year walking out of the store empty handed.

When I was a little girl I just couldn't comprehend how someone didn't want me. I spent many years trying to be worthy of her love. Many hours trying to decide if life was worth living because she didnt see any value in mine. Even more years trying to dissect the dysfunction. And decades to overcome it all.

Until she became ill.

I received a call a few years back from my little sister, informing me our mother had terminal cancer. At that point, I searched my heart through and through looking for one good memory to cling to. The more I searched the more I came up blank.


Then the drama began....my mother had informed all of our mutual acquaintances that she didn't want me to know of her illness or be part of her life during it. Which was a pattern of hers, to become a victim. Not only was she now a victim to a wretched disease, she also wanted to be a victim of an unnecessary family war created in her mind to draw attention from her own dysfunction. People would wonder why her children weren't flocking to her side as she faced this battle. And she decided to make me a target.


I handled the phone calls and inquiries that followed with as much grace as I possibly could. And after a few years of doing so my heart turned for bitterness to empathy. I would pray God don't let me see her through the eyes of my pain,  but let me see her the way you do...as YOUR child!

When the end of her life was drawing near she sent word that she didn't want me near her as she left this world. I prayed and prayed about how to handle such a horrific situation. I am a mother myself, and a natural caretaker. To not run to someones bedside goes against everything I am. But in the end, she made her choice, and I had to respect that. Even if that meant, not being able to be there for my little sister. I never wanted her to face tragedy alone, but I had to understand that wasn't my choice.

As the hour neared of her passing, my brothers (also estranged) made the choice to say their final goodbyes. I was busy making peace with the fact I was never going to get an explanation or an apology. There would never be reconciliation. Ever.

Coincidentally, my paternal grandmothers health began to deteriorate as my mother left this world.  I wasn't quite sure how I would handle the days to come, but became too overwhelmed holding my grandmas hand to deal with the loss of my mother.

But let me tell you, grief is such a hard word. It's even more hard to have to grieve in silence. I remember reading the messages sent out to my siblings and thinking nobody even has a clue how much my heart is broken. I didn't just lose my mother, but the mom that I had prayed for so long, the mom I felt she would someday be, the grandma I felt my kids deserved, was now hopeless. And losing hope is the worst feeling on earth.

Her funeral, (that my mom sent word I was allowed to attend but didn't feel to) was followed by my grandmothers. And following that would be her obituary. Which to me was like the last dagger she could pierce me with, but this time it twisted and hurt worse than anything I had ever felt. My eldest brother and I were left out as her children. It didn't surprise me at all. I really felt like it showed her true character, but nothing of mine. I just knew it probably was the worst thing he had ever read....to not even be acknowledged as your mothers child.  The part that hit me the most was that my children and my brothers' children were not listed either. Those who I cherish the most, her own flesh and blood, were absolutely nothing to her.  That broke me.

At that point I realized, God was protecting me one last time, from all of it. Had I ran to her bedside, only to be slapped in the face with her obituary, I can't even imagine the lifetime it would take me to recover from that wound.

We don't get to choose who were are born to, but we do get to choose what we make of it. We can choose to find purpose through the heartache. And we can choose to overcome.

And with that being said...Finally, after all of these years of suffering through Mother's Day, I made the choice to not look back at the sadness I have endured every other year, but to see Mother's Day for what it's worth....and that is the beautiful fact that I am a mother. I have a purpose beyond the heartache. And I am an overcomer. My children will never have to search for a good memory, because so far I have made a million. And by the grace of God, they will not have to walk out of the store empty handed while looking for the perfect card for me. In fact, they always choose to make their own. And that is more precious than anything in this world❤