Motherless on Mother’s Day
Mourning While Others Are Celebrating
Mother’s Day will always be a little dark for me. Even if I try to reside in the brightness of my fond memories, there is no way to escape reflecting on what I’ve lost. I have buried three matriarchs in my family — my mother and both of my grandmothers. No matter how sunny the day, no matter how filled with joy others are, a part of me must mourn.
I overflow with love for the mother who birthed and raised me. I am grateful for all the women who have poured into my life. I’m so thankful for the mother I had and the memories we shared, but I can’t celebrate Mother’s Day without some sadness or the wish that my mother could still be here.
I have been motherless for nearly two decades now, and not every Mother’s Day is hard. Sometimes I feel more guilt or surprise at the absence of sadness than sadness itself. In some ways the loss grows easier to bear, but in other ways it grows larger. There are fewer memories of my mother at the forefront of my mind. There is a greater expanse of time between now and when she was alive. She remains the most important woman in my life, but I grow farther from her in time. I wear her wedding ring, but nothing smells like her anymore. I see flickers of her in my siblings, but her voice is gone. I cannot seek her opinion or find myself lost with her in a…
