The Motherless Facebook Post

The title of this blog is "My Mother's Daughter." So I feel it would be a bit lacking if I did not write a post on Mother's Day. But I have been struggling all day to think of what to write.

So I will just be honest.

At least twenty or so of my friends on Facebook have posted photos of themselves and their mothers today. Along with the photos most of them have written a sentence or two about how great their mom is and how much they love her.  This is perfectly okay, as I'm sure it brings joy to the mothers to see something nice written about them and probably refreshing for them to see a picture posted of themselves at a much younger age. I would love to see my son post something similar if he were old enough to even know what Facebook is. So, it is fine.

But I cannot escape the fact that reading these posts makes my heart ache.

My mom is not on Facebook (and trust me, she wouldn't have a clue how to use it). But she is somewhere up above, watching over me, so maybe I should write my own version of the "Mother's Day" Facebook post.  But I will write it here instead - because it is sad. It is raw. It is long. It is personal. And it involves several different women. So here goes.

Happy Mother's Day to the greatest mother I could have asked for. The mother that was taken away from me far too soon.  Raelene, I miss your your laugh. I miss your pot roast. I miss your out-of-style shoulder pads that you didn't ever need because we have genetically large upper bodies yet you wore them proudly anyway. I miss the way you called me "Sissy" even though it sounded weird to other people and the fact that you called Grandpa "Daddy" all the way through your adult life. I miss your smile. And oh how I miss your voice. I would have given anything to hear you sing in church today. Sometimes I think about how much my children are missing out because they have never heard you sing, but then I remember you must have sang to them before they came here.  So maybe they miss your voice just as much as I do.

I wish you could be here today. Pete is making homemade lasagna and banana cake that I'm sure you would love. You could smell my gardenias and talk about how you can't keep plants alive. Plus, Kennedy is cranky today. I think she needs her grandma to hold her.

But you are not here. And it hurts.

Lois and Willie, if it is possible for a grown woman to also need her grandma to hold her, I am that woman. And I need both of you. Plus both of you probably could keep my gardenias alive. But neither of you are here either.  And that hurts too.

But there are other mothers who have greatly impacted my life, and I always think of them on Mother's Day. Mary Jo, Delany, Sue F., Jennifer B., Jayne...you are all celebrating today with your own children. But I hope you know how much I love each of you. I am a better woman because you each chose to mother me at some point along the way. And that does not hurt. That makes me smile. So thank you.

I love being a mother. I hate being motherless. But it is who I am. And that is okay.

My husband will hug me, my brothers will cry with me, my children will laugh, and tomorrow my Facebook feed will be back to normal and it will be a little bit easier for me to breathe for another year. And for these things I am grateful.