Mother's day is one of those holidays that I used to never be able to remember. It would come sneaking up, seemingly nothing fun between Easter when I would get too much chocolate and watch movies, and the Fourth seemed like a dream in the distant future. March invites in spring, April goes by too fast, and then I get a chastising call from my Grandma to not forget about mother's day this weekend. Damn that holiday, always came out of nowhere and stuck me with having to figure out a way to ride my bike somewhere without Mom knowing about, get her something she would like, and all only if I had money from selling newspapers. Sometimes I would space on it completely and end up just making a card up that day with a half an hour and a box full of goodies.
Mother's day was always spent kissing up to Mom, being a good little kid, and making sure she had a great day. I can still remember my dad bringing home a bouquet of yellow roses, my Mom's favorite flower, and putting them on the countertop in the kitchen. She would always love to see them, and try her hardest to make them live as long as possible. Sometimes she would barely get the day off, if at all. We were busy little kids, and Mother's day always seemed to fall perfectly on a weekend that I had a soccer tournament, or I would have plans with friends and neglect my Mom. She never complained, she never made a big deal out of it or a fuss either way. If she got the day off she would revel in it, and if not it was just another day.
Now, it is not a holiday. It is something that I can't forget, no matter how badly I want to. Its a day that I wake up and don't want to get out of bed. Its a day that I catch myself dialing home, and hanging up before anyone picks up, quickly realizing the person I want to talk to isn't going to be there. Its a day that I find myself pulling through, trying to put on a fake smile, hoping no one mentions Mother's day to me. Always buy a yellow rose for her, and put it in a cheap vase from Goodwill, hoping that someday I can afford something better than that to attribute to her memory. And then I break down. I can't handle days like this, days dedicated to the person that I love so much, and can't give a hug to. The person that still influences me to this day, even though I haven't heard her voice in nearly three years. The memories come back like a flood, learning to count in the back of Jo-Ann fabrics, watching Golden Girls until we had every episode memorized, waking up in the middle of the night to her painting the kitchen bright green, playing Bingo in the middle of the winter when we got off school, digging through her old paintings she made years before, snuggling up in a quilt she had just finished making, holding her hand for the last time. This day is always filled with happy memories, but sometimes they can be a little too hard to handle.
I will never forget the first time I opened the chest that she kept everything my brother and I made for her in. The chocolates I bought for her weren't in there, the fun kitchen gadgets, the little figurines, or any of the other gifts I got her. But all of the cards were. Every single one.
Love you Mom
Take it easy