Mother's Day Postmortem

We enjoyed a beautiful Mother’s Day this year; I hope you did. Literally beautiful because we celebrated many of the moms in the family in the perfect place: outside. The weather was mild and the breeze was light, bringing with it the scent of honeysuckle—one of my favorite things. It was glorious, ya’ll. 

Last year John and I ate grits and eggs out of to-go boxes with his parents in their front yard, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m still basking in the glow of Sunday. 

The moms hauled in the goods too: gift cards, flowers, jewelry, cards—funny and sweet. I decided to join in on the gift-giving by making homemade decorated cookies as a take-home treat for the moms. The thought was a good one, but the execution was weak. (You know you have a mess when no amount of glitter can fix it.) 

Then I remembered: You know how mothers often receive (usually handmade) gifts that are the worst, but moms have to act like they’re the best? I simply gave these ladies another opportunity to do their thing: lie with a noble purpose. And they came through like the champs they are.

When I could finally have a sense of humor about the cookies, I wished my mother had been here to laugh with me; she would’ve laughed the loudest. 

I think about her every day, of course, not only on Mother’s Day. But I do pay tribute to her every year by wearing a cute T-shirt I bought several years ago from The Bitter Southerner. It reads, My Heroes Have Always Been Mamas. It’s a cute play on a song by one of my other heroes, Willie Nelson. He was one of hers too. 

But the thing is, my mother was never my hero.  

She wasn’t a hugs-and-kisses kind of mother. But the Lord knew I still needed nurturing, so he gave me aunts and a few exceptional teachers who filled in some of the gap. [To my truly unmothered friends out there who may be ready to click away, please know I see you.]

She was just a hard person with us. She had to be our mother and our father, which must have been extremely challenging. And not at all fair. She worked outside the home—often adding some kind of side hustle—to make sure we had what we needed, and a little extra. She isn’t the only single mom in the world, then or now. But at the time and in our circle, it wasn’t that common. She’d spin the plates just long enough to give us some sense of normalcy. 

Since she’s been gone I’ve been able to look at it with the kind of clarity that comes with time and healing. Actually, that’s not true. Almost as soon as she passed, some cosmic switch flipped and my heart softened. I then began to realize I didn’t give her enough credit. The time and healing manages the shame I felt and feel. That's the only real regret I have surrounding her last year of life, but it's a heavy one.

But the purpose of this isn’t to pile onto my own guilt; it’s to honor her. The woman definitely left a legacy behind to be passed on to her grandchildren and great-grands. Out of everything I learned from her, two things stick out:

1. Make special days special. Regardless of the money spent, the number of people involved, or how big (or small) the celebration, DO celebrate. Making the extra effort is always worth it.

2. Being a family is not a spectator sport. You have to work at it, especially when it’s hard. It’s often difficult, unpleasant, and disappointing. I’m still learning in practical terms what caring for our family really meant for her. So why bother? Because it’s just as often fun, inspiring, and fulfilling. And—according to my mother—it’s what you do, no question.

And that’s why these days I’m all in with my shirt. She is my hero, and I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it.

Thanks for reading.