Mother’s Day Hangover

Mother’s Day Hangover

Boy oh boy, what a pain in the neck Mother’s Day is for me. After a restless night’s sleep, I woke up with a pit in my stomach and a pain in my heart.

Sudden remembering: Mother’s Day. Again.

Everywhere I looked, I saw men buying flowers, families together, mothers carrying gifts. It was like a cosmic joke. I did receive flowers – an emoji in a text from my son that said, “Happy Mother’s Day!” Under the circumstances, and because I had low expectations, I felt that it was better than nothing.

That said, I find that each year seems to be a little more upsetting than the last. This year, after so many years of being treated like a pariah, this estrangement seemed a little sadder, a little more absurd, a little more frustrating than it has before. Too much time has now been invested in alienation. I have missed my four grandchildren’s baby years and childhoods. I have missed the laughs, the fun, the small adventures. I have missed hugging them and loving them from the pure, open place in my heart that I hold just for them. And they have missed out, also, though they might not know it yet.

So many years gone, dissipated like the scattering of ashes.

Yes, I weeped and railed at the sky yesterday. I felt cheated, enraged. But only I can change these feelings; only I can change my responses and attitudes. I know what I have to do. I will hit reset and start again, fresh. I will not be defeated by this because I am sick to death of living with intermittent, overwhelming grief and anger

I could really do without Mother’s Day, though. It just rubs salt in the wounds.

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