It’s another Mother’s Day since you’ve left for your journey to the Other Side. Although it’s said that time heals all wounds, whoever said that must not have had many deep ones. Every day without you is a life in transition, and although it’s been 11 whole Mother’s Days since the last time I’ve been able to celebrate with you in the physical, I still avoid the emails and commercials that only sting like shampoo in the eyes, and in the stores I turn my head away from the card section for fear that my eye faucet will turn on.
It’s funny how I can remember every Mother’s Day gift I gifted you. Each one thought out to try and make you happy and bring a small light to your world, though your mental and physical darkness. I also remember being upset that you threw away my bouquet of dandelions that I so proudly collected, and the grief I gave you for years, and apparently still am.
Mother’s Day is a painful reminder that you aren’t here anymore. Even though I know you are happy and at peace, and you’ve reassured me of that time and time again through the many signs, be it songs on the radio, finding dimes, and smelling lilacs, it isn’t quite the same, but please continue to do it anyhow. I know you listen to me when I talk and I hear you in my mind, see you in my dreams/visits and even hear you through my own daughter. I laughed when we received the advertisement in the mail with your name on it from Kohl’s, obviously telling me to buy something, and when I was sad and a random cat came up to me outside and climbed in my lap – something you obviously would’ve contrived. And when I received a call from your cemetery and yet returned the call only to be told they they never called me. I teach in my office that nothing is ever random or a coincidence, but pure synchronicity, and I thank you for sending me the signs and symbols.
I still beat myself up, though mom. I think of the times that I could’ve spent more time with you, or the times when you wanted to tell me the same story for the hundredth time but I acted like a child and snapped that I’d already heard about this or that already. Or how I could’ve spent more time at the hospital with you, holding your hand. I always said I wouldn’t have any regrets. I was doing the best that I could do with what I had, but it’s funny how time makes you reconsider your priorities. Now I wave to you every time I pass by your cemetery, knowing all too well that you aren’t there. I still buy you flowers on Mother’s Day, and ironically your gravestone last year was covered in dandelions that I weeded out. And I still talk to you ever single day, many times a day in fact, just like we did when you were here.
Happy Mother’s Day, mom. I hope you are enjoying the sunshine on your face and the sand between your toes. You deserve a beautiful day – a beautiful heaven. I miss you on this Mother’s Day and on ever day.
I also want to give out my love to those who wanted to be a mom, or are trying to get pregnant.
Just know that you aren’t alone in the sting. We are in this together.
“It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”
― Rose Kennedy
Looking for a gift for your mom, or maybe a gift for someone who is mother-less on Mother’s Day – purchase “It’s a Wonderful Afterlife” to help with the healing!