One Day a Year

Mother's Day. A day to celebrate your mom, being a mom - or remember just how amazing your mom was if she is no longer here. One cannot escape or ignore Mother's Day - and rightfully so. Many moms do amazing, incredible and selfless things ALL THE TIME - they deserve a day of recognition and reverence. I am continuously in awe of all the moms out there who put the needs of their children above their own, and who work past the point of exhaustion so their children can have a life worth remembering. I am impressed. I am dazzled. And...regrettably...I am jealous. 

Jealous. Ugh - I hate to be this selfish brat of a person. I wish I could be completely happy and joyful for others; I wish I could take the 'bigger person' approach and appreciate what I had - but I cannot...not fully. Of course, I greatly appreciate that I knew who my mother was - there are many in this world who don't; I am thankful I had eleven years with her where I felt like the most important person on the planet - there are many in this world who don't get that either; and I am eternally grateful I had a grandma and aunt who were there to step in when my own mom couldn't really be a mom - but they are gone too, and that adds a whole other level of emptiness to this day. 

Needless to say, Mother's Day is hard for the obvious reasons. However, this Mother's Day ache isn't something that arose after her passing in 2009 - it's been hanging around since she left.This compounds the pain of Mother's Day - yes, my mom died and that sucks; but fourteen years before she died, she chose to leave - and every Mother's Day since then has been one gigantic reminder that I wasn't enough for her to stay. Certainly, she had her reasons - reasons that had very little to do with me - I am old enough now to sympathize with many of them and understand the others; and while those perspectives give adult Josie a great deal of peace, they do not erase the pain, confusion and alienation young Josie felt growing up.

  

In college, I tried to write a poem for her on Mother's Day, but I did not give it to her; because while I was well-intentioned, my own hurt and anger were much too vividly on display. I did not want to hurt her or make her feel guilty - I only wanted to bring her comfort, so I brought flowers, brownies and a card to the nursing home instead. She was really sick at this point - having had her breast cancer surgery in February and having been on life support in March...but she was "improving" by the time May rolled around. That's the word doctors would use - improving - but she never actually improved, she just stayed in limbo between life and death for a few more years thanks to the marvels of modern medicine (that sarcasm you are sensing is another beast in itself...living wills/advance directives. Make one. Use it - for the sake of those who love you.). Regardless, I felt I was losing her - again. 

In my mind, I had lost her once when she left, a second time when she got sick...and was set to lose her one last time. I was trying to reconcile past pain enough to be fully present with her in the time she had left. I didn't get there then - and I would not get there before she died. It was a mixture of immaturity and circumstance that prevented such a thing: I was too broken in my twenties to let my guard down, and the moments where she was actually herself were too few and far between for a real closeness to exist. 

Time, ultimately, has been the only thing that could bridge my "mom chasm" and help me recognize that while I was devastated by some of the actions of my mother, she really did love me. Three-hundred and sixty-four days a year I have that perspective. I am a happy, well-adjusted 30-something; grateful for the life I have and the people (and animals!) I love and have loved. On Mother's Day, I'm a shattered little girl who has missed her mom for so long on so many levels, I cease to be a functional human being. Perhaps, one day if/when I have my own children, there will be a brightness to Mother's Day. Until then...I'll probably just be this girl one day a year: 

Hi Mommy, it's me.
Your daughter.
The little girl who loved you so much
She couldn't leave your side, and hung on to your skirt
So tight
Her little fists turned white.
Do you remember me?

Of course you don't, because you're not my mom.
The one I love s'been dead for years now, 

But you're still occupying her dying body.

I remember who you used to be.
I remember when you used to love me
And how you used to care;
But priorities change and so did you
When you left me standing there
With no skirt to cling to. 

I wish for the naive days of my childhood -
Before I knew what it felt like to lose you
And then watch you die.

Your selfishness nearly destroyed me,
Still I can't help but care for your feeble frame.
It bears resemblance to a woman I once adored; 

The broken body of a woman I now, at times, deplore
Is damaged beyond repair,
And I know I can't restore you.

Your essence is a mere memory now.
I don't even know you anymore,
But I miss who you once were.

You're more hurt than you're worth most days.
'Course...I don't really mean that.
What I really mean is, I love you; 

I always have and I always will -  

But you have damaged me, Mommy.
I hold your tattered skirt in my hands.