13 Mother's Days I Remember
"Today, the first Mother’s Day that lays bare all its myriad complexities for me—joy and gratitude, celebrations and memories, melancholy and pain."
The Mother’s Day my mother told me, don’t buy me something, make me something. I wrote a poem. It was terrible. She still has it.
The Mother’s Day I wanted to acknowledge my new stepmother but grappled with how that might impact my mom. It was the start of a new tradition: store-bought cards corrected with sharpies to read Happy Mother-ish Day.
The Mother’s Day during college when I was struggling greatly with my relationship with my mother. I don’t remember what was said on the requisite long-distance phone call that Sunday, just a lot of awkward pauses between the words.
The Mother’s Day after college when I showed up to my mom’s house with peonies, ready for a new chapter.
The Mother’s Day I realized nearly all my friends were celebrating with their own children and I might never have that for myself.
I was okay with that. I think. I was 32.
The first Mother’s Day as a mom. I wish I could say I remember every second and it was glorious! Mostly I have a hazy recollection of feeling loved, feeling special, having a new appreciation for my own mother’s sacrifices, and getting stuck with the breakfast dishes.
The first Mother’s Day as a mom of two. It was the day I brought Sage home from the hospital. My relationship was not good, and those who knew questioned my choice.
I didn’t care; now the children would always have each other.
The first Mother’s Day as a single mother. Someone posted a “Happy Mother’s Day” message on Facebook…to my kids’ father. Honoring him for “being the mommy too.” It still stings, though I wish it didn’t.
The first Mother’s Day that two kids called me to wish me their own version of Happy Mother-ish Day.
The Mother’s Day after my children’s dad died. The thoughtful notes and good wishes from his family and closest friends, some of whom hadn’t talked to me for years. A new sense of my responsibility to keep those connections alive. A reminder that family can look like whatever we want it to.
The Mother’s Day two months into the solemn isolation of the pandemic. My own mother and stepdad drove to Brooklyn to surprise the kids. They parked on a tiny, no-traffic street called Love Lane and when my kids got close enough to recognized the lady with the silver hair and the bright yellow parka waving to them, we all collapsed onto our knees on that empty street. We remained 6 feet apart. We wore masks. We didn’t hug, though we all ached for one.
My stepfather placed a utility bucket full of fresh cut peonies from their garden in the center of the street for us before they drove away.
Love Lane, Brooklyn, 2020 Today, the Mother’s Day that lays bare all its myriad complexities for me—joy and gratitude, celebrations and memories, melancholy and pain.
Today we were so lucky to get to squeeze my mom and stepfather tightly, no masks needed. Today I walked arm in arm with my two teenagers, feeling wildly grateful that they’ll still let me hug them in public. Today we all laughed and cried over scrambled eggs and good toast.
Today we talked about future Mother’s Days, and how we might best hold space for those who will experience it with understandable ambivalence.
Today my mom talked about still missing her own mom, and how that never really goes away.
Today I looked around at the tables lining the New York sidewalks with families of all kinds and tried to piece together their own Mother’s Day stories, wondering who was genuinely happy and who was still working on it and who was barely holding it together.
Today I bought myself the peonies.
Whether this is a day of celebration for you, a day of difficulty, or a bit of both, I send you all the love in the world. Thank you for being here today. - Liz
When the tears stopped and I could see the letters on the keyboard I wanted to use my words to tell you how special this was to read. How you never forget but practice forgiveness and humility in every phrase. Then I realized my words will never be as eloquent as yours. So I hope you’ll read my heart.
What a great list of memories and Mother’s Day moments. Motherhood is joy wrapped in jokes and tears with a crazy at times chaser. But nothing tastes better.