News

Happy Mother’s Day everyone. For all those children out there who don’t have an official mother, as I did not as a child, you still have a mother. The person who takes care of you the most, that’s your mom. It doesn’t matter if it’s your dad, or your grandmother, or grandfather, or an aunt, or even someone not related by blood. Do they take care of you? Yes? Then you’ve got a mom. As a child I didn’t think I had one. My mother died when I was six, so I spent years watching kids in school making mother’s day gifts and being completely left out. It wasn’t until I was in late elementary school, like fifth or sixth grade before I realized I had a mom. My grandmother raised me. By the time I realized what she was to me, they didn’t have to make gifts in school for mother’s day. We didn’t have any extra money, but I wanted to give her something. I went to my favorite part of the woods near our home armed with a big spoon, and a small plastic bag. I dug her up a wild violet; a beautiful purple one. I brought it home and presented it to her. It would take me years to understand what that first mother’s day gift must have meant to her. We planted the violet in the flower bed, and it grew bigger every year. Until it was the size of a football, and covered in violets every spring for many years. I would give her other gifts over the years, but that was the first one that I gave without prompting, and simply because I wanted to acknowledge that regardless of titles, she really was my mom.
I lost my grandmother last year. She was ninety-four and ready to go. It wasn’t a surprise, and it was an end to a lot of pain for her. The family cried and joked that Granny had been trying to get this many of us together for years on mother’s day weekend, now here we were. Even in death she got her way. I wondered why I was upset yesterday, I couldn’t figure it out. It was my very smart husband who pointed out that last year I was at my grandmother’s funeral on this weekend. I didn’t cry, not a tear. Everyone else cried, a lot of tears. I didn’t. I was strong for my daughter, because it was her first funeral, and I didn’t want to cry. I’m finally able to cry. A year later, and I’m finally able to see past the anger and the grief, mostly the anger. My ex-husband is dropping off my daughter at noon. We are having dinner here for Jon’s mom, and great-grandma Helen. I guess this all started because I was picking out flowers to send to Mary and Helen. I started to pick out a third bouquet for my grandmother, then realized that there was no need. I even thought about trying to send flowers to her grave, but the florists get weirded out by requests like that. Don’t know why, I can’t be the first person who’s asked, can I? I finally realize that I’ve been on hold. I haven’t wanted to talk about her death, not really. I haven’t wanted to deal with it. I’ve been angry, and I’ve been resentful, but today I can finally begin to look back and go there were moments that were good. In some ways anger keeps you safe, but in the end it will eat you up. You have to grieve. You have to let go and grieve. If I could wave a magic wand I would put a bunch of violets on her grave, but I could not bear to stand there in that cemetery today. I could not bear to stand there between my mother’s grave and my grandmother’s grave. I could not bear it. Maybe next year. Maybe never. All I know for today is that I miss her, for better or worse, I miss her. Damn.