Grief or Gratitude

I hate Mother's day. with a passion. Started long ago. The real, true loathing came that first year after you were born. Born on the 3rd of the same month, gone from me, living in your "real" home, with your "real" family. And it just kept on. Soon enough I was a step-mom. And they made gifts for their Mom and I helped them create and present and mail and all that jazz. And I sulked. And moped. and mourned. Mourned the loss of a child who wasn't dead. Mourned the loss of the dream of what I thought motherhood should look like. Mourned the marriage that did not honor me or any of my sacrifices. I had this idea in my head that mother's day should play out like a fairy tale. All happiness and glitter and and rainbows and shit. But it didn't. And I couldn't see that this was simply reality. Not some secret plot to destroy me. Accept it they say. It will get better they say. But it didn't. Get better. and I didn't. accept it.

And then YOU came along. And I tried to let go of all the sorrow I held for soooo long. The deeper than melancholy ache that robbed Mother's Day of any form of joy or gratitude for what I had. But it still held fast. Don't get me wrong. EVER. Your entry into my world was joy. The purest of joy. Okay, what do I know about purity or pure love or pure motivation. But joy. You brought joy. You beautiful little bundle. Joy.

But the emptiness of a Hallmark Holiday stayed. And every year I grieve. For a fairytale that didn't ever appear, for my own selfishness and that I couldn't somehow just love the children in my life without the intense jealousy of their parents. Their parents! Who in the hell does that?! Lives with a jealousy for a child's mother? or father? I could simply offer my children my love and accept them and cheer them on and help them design gifts for their Mom, and that should reward me. Because that is real love. I was able to put through for the most part, but to actually just be blessed in helping them? I chose grief over gratitude.

Today I live with more gratitude than I ever have before. But the stench of a holiday that is celebrated in such a fake way, such a middle-class, keep-up-with-the-joneses kind of way, that stink is still in my nose. It is still there. Rotting away in my nostrils, and stinking out the sweet, fragrant smell of appreciation and love for all I DO have.

And a little bit of redneck showing here.... When I think of mother's day, I think of two things:

My friend Gene saying "Happy mother's day to all the Moms, and to the rest of you mothers, have a happy day."

And that red neck song about "...up against the wall you redneck mothers..."

I will leave you with those thoughts. Once again, like impending doom, Mother's day is on the horizon. I can chose gratitude or grief.