I always feel like a certain ambivalence towards Mother’s Day. When I was growing up I did celebrate it because my grandmother was still alive. Since she raised me and all, I had a reason to. My own mother had decided to renege on her responsibility long before so as long as I can remember, Mother’s Day meant a day full of flowers, cards, and mixed emotions.
Grandmother has been gone for 18 years now. I don’t use Mother’s Day as excuse to feel sad or wallow in memories. I have her birthday and the day of her death to do it. No, Mother’s Day is just another Sunday on the calendar now. No, I don’t feel the urge to get on the phone and ring up the woman who gave birth to me. I have no desire to engage in a tearful reunion. Besides, how it would play out in my mind would be less than ideal. Think yelling, screaming, and recriminations. But what I am not is bitter. I realize that there are people out there who have given birth to children but in no way, shape, or form deserve the title of “Mother”. I just happen to be one of those children. Yes I do realize that the Mother-Daughter bond is probably one of the most significant in human existence. It doesn’t mean that one can’t survive without it. I do it everyday. As hard as it is sometimes, I do it and do it well.
Besides, I consider myself fortunate to have had “surrogate” mothers. These awesome women who have stepped in at different times of my life to provide support when I needed it. For Mrs. Roberta Judd, My aunt LaJoie, Mrs. Edna Shoffner, Dr. Charlotte Alston, Mrs. Mary Scarlette, and Mrs. Barbara Morrow Williams, Mother’s Day is really for them. Actually, it’s for any woman who has filled a void for a child who has missed out on the enduring love of a mother.
Cheers to them. Now as for Father’s Day, that’s a whole different story.
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