Mother's Day

What the f*#@ is Mother's Day, anyway? Every year it brings up the same feelings and I'm reminded of how much it sucks. I'm raising this kid who more often than not can't stand me and so much time has passed that I really can't stand her, either. I feel like the worst mother on earth. All my thoughts of her, all the time, are negative. In no way do I present the perfect or even good picture of what it means to be a mother. I'm not the one that she runs to in times of trouble. I'm not nurturing. She doesn't confide in me - even a little. No. I'm the disciplinarian. I'm the realist who bursts her bubbles. I'm the one who tries to get her to think beyond the end of her nose. I'm the one who is overly critical. I'm the one who is unforgiving. I continue to hit my head against the proverbial brick wall by wanting a relationship with a person who has made it clear time and time again that she doesn't give a shit about me.

Our family attends church together every Sunday. It's not like we're a traditional family by any means. We all drive separate vehicles and get there at different times. But it's something we do almost every Sunday. Today, she and I were supposed to be there early for worship team practice. She was still sleeping when I left. She never showed at all. I felt like a complete idiot sitting through this service where the message was about mothers and I don't even know where the heck my kid is at. She obviously didn't consider it important enough to be there with me on Mother's Day. When I arrive home her car is there but I have no idea if she is. It's been an hour and I still haven't seen her. There's a card on the table for me that's would be funny if we had a good relationship. But since we don't, it just hurts. Inside are two photos that she's taken for her photography class. She's pretty talented and I'm immensely impressed with some of the pics she's taken. But c'mon. How much thought, time, or money went into them? None. It's not like I expect her to spend money on me to make a gift good. But when I see her spend money on everyone and everything else and I don't get shit, I'm just a tiny bit upset. The least she could have done was to get a cute frame - wouldn't have cost more than five bucks. She works two jobs, for pete's sake. This, of course, is on top of the fact that my b-day was last month and all I got was a card. Not even an attempt at a gift. While back in September, she spend quite a bit on my husband's birthday. She always seems to be so thoughtful with him, but for me, her attitude seems to be "whatever."

And something else that bothers me is that no one ever seems to remember that my motherhood was stolen from me by the "group." Margaret was a real, flesh and blood baby who was mine. No one ever takes into consideration that I had a child so many years ago. Her existence goes completely unacknowledged today, as does the fact that I still have not been able to conceive. The idea of having a baby now brings with it mixed feelings, but not a single soul even thinks about the fact that a struggle exists.

And how about my own mother? The woman I thought gave birth to me, the woman I have called mom my entire life, isn't really my mom. My oldest sister is the one who actually gave birth to me. She died in 1999 from breast cancer and I decided to visit her grave today. I told no one. Simply brought a single rose (which all the women in church received today) and spent a few minutes there. She had two miscarriages during her marriage so she was never called mother. I was suddenly struck by how her motherhood was ripped from her not only through those two miscarriages, but also because our true relationship was never acknowledged while she was alive. So we've both been robbed of the privilege of being called, "mom." Her headstone reads, "Beloved wife, daughter, sister." I made a promise today that there would come a day when somehow she would publicly be known as my mother.

I had a moment of horror this week when I realized that I was sending my letter (see my One Step at a Time posting) so close to and it would probably be received before Mother's Day. "Happy Mother's Day, Mom!" What a kick in the teeth! At first I felt tremendous guilt and almost postponed mailing it. Then insiders pointed out that they took my motherhood from me. They went on to remind me that my real mom was lying in a cemetery 45 minutes away. Therefore, we owe this imposter nothing.

As I kneeled by my mother's graveside, I began to wonder what a mother really is. What is my definition? How would I describe one? I have never really taken the time to operationally define the word, but I have had absolutely no difficulty in berating myself for not being a good one. So the challenge before me is to think about and concretely describe for myself what a good mother is and come to a place of both forgiving myself for my shortcomings and congratulating myself in the areas in which I've excelled. I suspect that I've been guaging my success at parenting by how this child I've been raising is turning out and by how much she loves (or doesn't love) me. So it is now time for me to turn my attention to this matter before I allow anymore misplaced guilt to illegally take hold.