Honor Mothers
Honoring Humans on Mother’s Day And Beyond
Come Celebrate Maternal Love That Goes Unrecognized
I recently came across a concept that has eluded me completely — the day before Mother’s Day is designated as Bereaved Mother’s Day.
The weight of this discovery has left a harrowing feeling within me.
A few weeks ago, I had a heartfelt conversation with my mom, baring my true feelings about marriage and having a family.
For a parent whose values are deeply rooted in the traditional dreams of witnessing their kids have a family of their own, it’s a difficult conversation, more so when one has no plan of having one.
“Don’t I already have a family?”
“Your family”, confirms my mother.
Things have changed ever since a relationship of 5 years that once held promises, fell flat on my face. My mom can smell the reason while my dried-up throat swallows the confirmation.
Funny thing, Mother’s Day. It only celebrates women with a living child(ren).
What about those men who have replaced the bereaved mothers?
What about kids who have lost their mothers?
What about mothers who carry babies in their hearts but not their arms?
What about mothers who have made a decision not to try?
What about mothers like me? One whose love for kids is undeniable and has a deep desire to have a child.
Amidst my doomsday scrolling past Instagram, my eyes were fixated on a picture of a baby with irresistibly chubby legs wearing minuscule socks whose smile was enough to brighten up days like these.
As an ally in the exchanges of images like these, I am reminded of him. It must’ve been the reason why he left social media.
I lied to myself when I told him I don’t want kids or that adopting kids would be better. Sometimes, looking into the mirror disgusts me as I let go of my wish to become a parent or have blood ties that would mirror him.
I didn’t want any kid to experience the difficult times that existed between us — why was I willing to sacrifice a child from another mother? I am guilty.
Perhaps articles like these may provoke men like him with trust issues to question their partner’s integrity, leading to unwarranted suspicions and requests for DNA tests. While women like me are reluctant to have babies and provide those reports weighed under a quivering trust.
Thoughts like these have never been a recurring guest, but as my biological clock ticks relentlessly into infinity, they have now become a permanent member.
Mother’s Day can bring a whirlwind of emotions and rightly so, the role of mothers encompasses a myriad of responsibilities and challenges. They work tirelessly to keep a family functioning and are underappreciated in a patriarchal society and almost in all societies by and large.
If honoring motherhood is the reason to celebrate Mother’s Day, why not honor everyone who is, would be, were, are denied, and craves to be a mother on the same day as Mother’s Day?
What about mothers like me who haven’t found the right partner? or those who’ve lost their love and the idea of raising a child with someone else haunts them?
What about mothers who couldn’t afford to be a single mother?
Why are we any different?
When one of my students talks about her troubled relationship with her mother, who yearns for an indefinite separation, I’m compelled to teach her how to mother herself. Oh! how I wished to tell her that she is like my kid.
What about the dirty little secrets of mothers who were narcissistic, abusive, cruel, and self-absorbed?
What about those estranged children who feel isolated and shame when asked about their mothers?
What about those who grieve their mothers they never had but desperately wanted?
Doesn’t mothering oneself make us mothers?
When my friend grieves her dead mother, she is compelled to mother herself, to hold her own hand.
We who learn to untangle our hair, strand by stand. We who comfort ourselves with a gentle pat and hum ourselves to sleep, We who stand before the mirror, give ourselves a high-five and acknowledge our worth. For us who longed to hear supportive words like “proud”, “well done” and “it’s okay” but never saw the light of the day.
We who hug ourselves, learn to mother ourselves.
I’ve grown up in a setting that calls out women being “weak mothers”, more appropriately not “real mothers” if they do not cooperate for normal delivery.
My mother was called one of those when she lost her breath birthing a body akin to the size of a watermelon through a seemingly impossible keyhole.
Why is the history of motherhood chequered for eons now? Why is there a standard rulebook to follow to be called an ideal mother? What is an ideal mother? Who is an ideal mother?
Why do grieving parents often go unrecognized as mothers? Why is it so difficult to place empathy at the forefront of the intrusive questions of how they lost their child?
What about mothers for whom motherhood hasn’t come as she’d planned?What about mothers who are scared to bring a child amidst chaos and violence? What about mothers who have no control over their infertility?
Why is it so difficult to include her, albeit humans, for the lack of better pronouns, on Mother’s Day? But with such ease are included on Bereaved Mother’s Day?
A Bereaved Mother’s Day? Really?
As I navigated the emotional aftermath of my breakup, my brother’s uke would strum to a comforting melody that conveyed heartfelt lyrics, that went: “Teri aankhon ka kajal, na failay ab kabhi bhi tujhe itna pyaar du” which translates to:
In the depth of your eyes, a kohl so dark,
May it forever stay intact, leaving no mark.
With boundless love, I shall adorn your way,
Showering affection, each and every day.
What about those siblings who parent each other?
During my stay away from home, about a thousand miles far in an unknown city, my math professor offered me solace and guidance despite the Tom and Jerry relationship we shared.
What about students who let out the word “Mother”, instead of ma’am; the way it rolls off his tongue; unguarded? Isn’t it what makes a student feel at home; safe?
I am tired of making sense of how a single day cannot incapacitate humans of all kinds who are in all sense, a mother.
For those who —
Have lost a child(ren).
Whose mother is no longer alive.
Have adopted.
Love their fur babies.
Have miscarried.
Have fostered.
Are mothers of surrogacy.
Are yearning to be mothers.
Are step-parent.
Two men parenting a child/ Two women parenting a child.
Are living in fear.
Is a solo parent.
Are the best Godmothers.
Are new to Motherhood.
Don’t see their mothers.
And so many more.
I see you. We see you.
Life is complicated. Motherhood adds to its intricacies.
Wouldn’t it be nice to acknowledge the love, empathy, and hope that is ushered to us and others every day, beyond the confines of Mother’s Day?
Would it hurt to include and recognize all of us in the same pond?
Hey! Who are you a mother to?
Tell me. I’m all ears!
I share my views, ideas, and sometimes memes on Twitter. Come say hi and drop me a message on Twitter! Here’s my handle https://twitter.com/sonika_pd
I would love to connect with my readers and fellow writers!
