Of all the times in a person’s life, holidays like Mother’s Day are supposed to be special. These days are meant to be days of joy, and celebrating someone who gave you so much, that it kills you to think about losing them. Mother’s Day is not like that for me. Not one lick.
Mother’s Day is a day in which I am constantly reminded of a woman who chose her men and drugs over her children. It is a day of remembered slights, and children afraid of the person that brought them into this world. Mother’s Day is a day in which I have to struggle to remember those who do fight for their children.
Sometimes a holiday has the opposite effect on you. Most do, for me. I often wish I could just write a whole new world for myself in this great big internet thingy. A whole life of love, and happy tears, and kisses when I’m hurt. I try not to remember being told that I’ll have a reason to cry if I keep crying. I try not to remember bruises and threats and drinking and lying and breaking things.
I try to forgive my mother for being mentally ill. It never works. I can’t forgive somebody for something they are still doing, and my mother refuses to admit she needs help. She keeps seeking help from drugs, and booze, and refuses the help she really needs. Maybe one day she will. God, I pray she will.
I have seen my family bend over backwards to help my mother. No matter how undeserving she was, my uncles, and aunts, cousins, and grandparents took her in, took me in. My brothers and I knew who we could rely on, and it wasn’t our mother. It was the people who chose us. Neighbors, classmates, friends. They all have a word in my head that is special just to them. Because they chose me, they were my family.
My Mother’s Day was spent celebrating the day of the “Mommy” I love best. Jenny and I had pizza and root beer. We ate Krispy Kreme and went desk shopping. I took time to remember all the beautiful mothers in my life, and to remind them that I appreciate them. I will never have another “Mom”. I don’t want one. I get to enjoy my time with whatever mommies I choose, and I like it better that way.
If you are a mother, no matter how you became one: remember this; I hate my mother, but I will also love her until I die. I don’t get a choice. It’s how things work. Be good to your children, please, so there’s never another Rory running around.