Mother's
Day
Ah…Mother’s
Day. A day to let Mom know how much she truly means to you
by buying her a sentimental card, some flowers that will
wilt and die within days of receipt, and some sort of trinket
that was purchased last minute because the card and flowers
couldn’t handle the pressure alone. Each year it gets
harder and harder simply because a) my mom buys whatever
she wants, whenever she wants, and b) I can never remember
what I bought the previous year and whether Mom liked it
or not. So, in order to alleviate stress on myself, I decided
to not try and outdo myself. That’s right, I’m
like the river that flows around the rock, rather than trying
to smash my way through it like I’ve been doing all
these years.
Each
year I try and buy my mother’s love by getting her
something so great, so wonderful that I expect her to fall
to her knees in wonderment and exclaim to the heavens, "Thank
you for gracing my life with my daughter, whom I cherish
and love with all my heart." Each year, I swallow the
lump that forms in my throat as I watch her toss my gift,
so carefully thought out to try and please her, to one side
carelessly as she raves about the card my older (and absent
for many years) brother has sent her. Late.
Each
time I try and do something for my mother, I feel a tiny
piece of me break off and die when she doesn’t recognize
the effort I’ve made. Each time that happens, I vow
to not let it happen again but in my search for myself,
I look to my mother for clues as to where I come from so
that I can have a better idea of where I should go. She
has taught me well although not in the way that perhaps
she should have. I know how not to do certain things; that
behaving in specific ways harms a child’s sense of
self and tarnishes their view of the world. Her perception
of mothering has made me question whether or not I should
have children of my own and the very thought of me repeating
my mother’s behaviour terrifies me to my very core.
Mother’s
Day represents my self-imposed inadequacies as a daughter
and I dread it every year. Every year that is except this
one because I have finally realized that I am not my mother
and when I do have children of my own I will be a good mother.
This year, as a Mother’s Day present to myself I am
giving back control of my life to myself. For the first
time in many years, I finally feel free enough to be who
I am in front of my mother and not hide behind a mask that
she has crafted for me. I am who I am because of my mother,
and for that I thank her. If it weren’t for teaching
me what not to do, I wouldn’t have a clear sense of
what to do.
he