Thanks for nothing, Hallmark
When I was pregnant with Ryan, I really thought I'd come to know what Mother's Day is supposedly all about. I thought I'd finally "get" it by being on the receiving end of a holiday which has always left me confused and lonely.
My own mother has never played an active role of my life. Never. In fact, to this very day, I have no idea if she's still living. And, oddly, I have no desire to know.
My grandmother stepped up to the mom plate, but she was my biological grandmother, not my mother. When I was a kid, my grandmother humored me by allowing me to make a big fuss over Grandparent's Day, but not Mother's Day. Even once my grandmother had adopted me, we still didn't celebrate Mother's Day. Maybe it had to do with her own sons ignoring the day and its significance, so why bother celebrating it at all.
But, I became excited last year at this time, because I thought I'd only have one more year till I'd know what it's like to be a celebrating mom - I would finally be able to understand the specialness surrounding the second Sunday in May. Instead, I'm freaking out at the thought of this holiday creeping up on me with a sinister prowess, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce and lay me out.
Regular holidays are bad enough when your child has died; you long for their presence and mourn the memories that never came to fruition. But that emptiness cuts deeper on a day that's built around celebrating moms and their families.
What about all of us moms with invisible children? Are we supposed to be happy and joyous and all believe that bullshit Hallmark and the jewelry stores force-feed the public? Sorry, but a poem in a $3 card won't come close to fixing the irreparable wound across my heart.
I just can't get myself worked into a positive frame of mind regarding this day of acknowledgement, no matter how hard I try. And, I don't know how other people expect me to deal with this depressing day. Do I pretend I'm okay just to make everyone else comfortable so as to not disrupt their festivities?
I only know that for the rest of my life, regardless of how many children I may or may not have, Mother's Day will always be filled with dread and sadness, both for what I never had with my own mother and for what I never had with Ryan. And, it's just another day to remind me what I - as well as so many other unfortunate childless parents - lost and will forever be missing.
My own mother has never played an active role of my life. Never. In fact, to this very day, I have no idea if she's still living. And, oddly, I have no desire to know.
My grandmother stepped up to the mom plate, but she was my biological grandmother, not my mother. When I was a kid, my grandmother humored me by allowing me to make a big fuss over Grandparent's Day, but not Mother's Day. Even once my grandmother had adopted me, we still didn't celebrate Mother's Day. Maybe it had to do with her own sons ignoring the day and its significance, so why bother celebrating it at all.
But, I became excited last year at this time, because I thought I'd only have one more year till I'd know what it's like to be a celebrating mom - I would finally be able to understand the specialness surrounding the second Sunday in May. Instead, I'm freaking out at the thought of this holiday creeping up on me with a sinister prowess, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce and lay me out.
Regular holidays are bad enough when your child has died; you long for their presence and mourn the memories that never came to fruition. But that emptiness cuts deeper on a day that's built around celebrating moms and their families.
What about all of us moms with invisible children? Are we supposed to be happy and joyous and all believe that bullshit Hallmark and the jewelry stores force-feed the public? Sorry, but a poem in a $3 card won't come close to fixing the irreparable wound across my heart.
I just can't get myself worked into a positive frame of mind regarding this day of acknowledgement, no matter how hard I try. And, I don't know how other people expect me to deal with this depressing day. Do I pretend I'm okay just to make everyone else comfortable so as to not disrupt their festivities?
I only know that for the rest of my life, regardless of how many children I may or may not have, Mother's Day will always be filled with dread and sadness, both for what I never had with my own mother and for what I never had with Ryan. And, it's just another day to remind me what I - as well as so many other unfortunate childless parents - lost and will forever be missing.
posted by Sherry @ 5/11/2006 12:54:00 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home