Almost every mother has a Mother’s Day that has more tears than smiles.
Yesterday was mine.
If you want to know how I became obsessed with Mother’s Day, you can blame Mrs. Metson.
Mrs. Metson, with her Jordache jean skirt and her long, brown, Crystal Gayle hair.
Ms. Metson was my second-grade teacher at West Elementary School in Morristown, TN.
That year for Mother’s Day, we each made a plant to give to our mothers.
When Father’s Day rolled around the following month, I asked when we would be making the plants for our daddies.
She said “Oh, Daddies don’t. like plants! They like ties made out of macaroni.” 👀
So that is where the tradition began, plants for my mother, ties for my father. Although when I was old enough to get a job, the macaroni ties were swapped for the higher end, Dollar General brand.
Because I’m fancy.
Even as an adult, when my mother and I ended up living 1500 miles apart, we were always intentional about being together on Mother’s Day. Either mom would fly here to Massachusetts, or I would come to her home in East Tennessee.
Many of you know that my brother and I relocated my mother to New England in December of 2019 after she became ill, which meant our first Mother’s Day after her move was spent with her on her 2nd floor balcony and me in the parking lot.
So as I planned for Mother’s Day this year I was excited because I knew that I’d be able to see her in person on Mother’s Day. I had the whole day planned: We were going to create something artistic together, do a devotion from Pastor Steven William’s Devotional The Power of A Seed, maybe even share a meal.
But, as soon as I sat next to her in the dining hall at her community, I knew this Mother’s Day was going to be different.
For 12 months prior to this visit, our visits were organized in the common area downstairs. This was my first time seeing her in her “community”- where she spends most of her time during the day.
My mother, the woman who has loved me the longest, is disappearing right before my eyes.
My mother was diagnosed with a very rare form of Parkinson’s called Progressive Supranucleur Palsy (I won’t link it- you can Google it if you are curious but just know it is AWFUL) which is stealing her ability to speak, draw, and walk. It is heartbreaking. Linda Ronstant has the same illness.
My mother has been a painter for most of her life so being unable to paint is very hard for her.
“Brothers” (1993) Janice Treece Senter
As a writer, I found I have not been talking much about my sad days. I tend to write about positive topics over topics that may make the reader feel sad.
But what about the heavy days?
The days we wonder why us?
The days we wonder why our mothers?
I will admit- I spent more time in the valley than above ground on Mother’s Day, and guess what?
That’s OK.
It may have been the weight of my son relocating and my mother no longer being present mentally, but it was a lot!
However, I faced it, wrote about it, prayed about it and napped.
Then I got up, ate some of my honey’s fried fish and had a shot of whiskey.
I took care of MYSELF on Mother’s Day.
I almost did not publish this article because I did not want to make anyone in my life feel badly about not “doing something” for me yesterday. because believe me, they asked! But I did not want flowers or cards or yet another book or journal.
What did I want for Mother’s Day?
