A friend called in anticipation of this month's special day. It made me sad that she had to think about losing her mother on this Hallmark holiday. I get what she's talking about because I've grappled with missing my own mother for almost thirteen years.
Even so, I find a smidge of joy in the mix of sadness and happiness that washes over me this time of year. I consider myself lucky in the mother-daughter department. By no means was my mother perfect, far from it. But I loved her. I can still hear my mother's voice of reason: "Oh honey," she said, knowing that her death was near, "you will always have your memories."
And of course, I do have my memories. Her smile was bright. She loved coffee. She never managed to make it home in a car without spilling a tray of four cups; one for my dad, one for my husband, one for herself, and one for me. She'd laugh then. I laugh now. But at the same time, just writing this post brings tears of sadness, heartbreak and a lump in my throat. Swallow. Sometimes my eyes well up when I see an adult mother/daughter duo, walking together along
The worst part comes when I see a grandmother, young or old but in good health, spending time with a grandchild of any age. My children don't have my mom to laugh with and learn from. And I don't have my mom to ask parenting questions, or how to roast a lamb, or why it's important to settle an occasional rift in my marriage.
In 2008, in what was my tenth year of motherless mother's days -- in deference to Hope Edelman and Richie Havens for the concept -- 
my family celebrated the season in a way we hadn't done before. A special brunch was enjoyed by all, but mostly me. Afterward, we traveled to the cul-de-sac that had been my childhood playground. The meal and the country setting were heavenly. My old house, abandoned, was reminiscent of a place where Boo Radley might have once lived. I approached the front door despite my children's wishes that I do otherwise. I walked the perimeter of the granite and wood framed home. I felt safe amidst the overgrown rhododendron, my mother's beloved hasta and tulip beds that gave way to weeds and lily of the valley galore. I peeked in the windows, yet felt little remorse.
It was no longer my home but a place built upon memories. Instead of grief, I was happy for my safe and healthy childhood, surrounded by my mother's garden and the wild woods in which I played with neighborhood friends. It took but a minute to fast forward to the present and be grateful for an adult life surrounded by people I adore madly.
And so each year, as Mother's Day rolls around, the idea of mother loss percolates. The truth is, not a day goes by when I don't yearn for my mother; for her wit, her wisdom and a desire to share with her the goodness that is my life. I think she'd be pleased. And yet, this time of year, my heart aches mournfully for mothers who have lost a child. Something so horrible, I can't imagine.
In anticipation of Sunday, I celebrate my women friends, many of whom are moms. For everyday, it is their wisdom, their wit and our mutual experiences that inform me as a mom, as a wife and as a person in the world. I also celebrate my kids -- especially now, because the days of painted pasta necklaces and homemade cards are gone, replaced by a more complicated exchange of how they might navigate their lives in a big city, manage their digital footprint and abide by the "don't marry til after 30 rule."
The message for my friend, I realize, is to take time to celebrate whatever you can. On this occasion, I encouraged her to celebrate her mother, even though she's not here. To celebrate her father, because he is here and, most of all, to celebrate her children.
Being a mother isn't always happy, rarely is it easy and most often, the May day of celebration isn't about us. It's about our children. For most of us, for all of the bad days, there are many more good ones. So, celebrate the season dear ones and to my babies, I love you to the moon and back. You are my gift.
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Wendy Litner: Dealing with Grief on Mother's Day
I adored this post. Thanks so much for writing it and sharing it.
It's been a long time since we've been in touch. Hope you are well.
Best,
Allison