Thus far, a flower store I often use sent me a reminder about flowers. West Jet told me what my mother most wanted was a trip (I’d say she took her final and perpetual vacation in December of 2014, but you go West Jet). Shopper’s Drug mart tried to offer me some “Motherly Advice” to buy more stuff.
AMA asked “What does a mother look like?”
So, let me tell you, Alberta Motor Association.
This mother has spent a week in workshops. Making sure that people were heard, that time was kept and decisions were made. This mother is tired. She mediated an actual shouting match broke out during her AM workshop yesterday. This mother made sure that everyone was going to take a break, have some food. She made sure that feelings were ok after the shouting match, then she had a glass of wine with her lunch.
This mother spent Tuesday night with a sobbing 5 year old Spark on her lap. She sent an email to the family, asking if everything was alright. She emailed a niece who is going through a hard time. She laughed at pictures of her great niece and nephew.
On Sunday? She will go out the garden where she placed her mother’s ashes. She will tell her mother all the things that have happened over the winter. Her mother’s former boyfriend might send her a text, remembering her mother. This mother’s day she will be remembered as a bereaved daughter. It turns out that it is easier for the world to countenance a daughter whose Mother has died than a Mother whose child has died.
I don’t look any different on Mother’s Day than I ever do. I’m as invisible of a mother as I ever was.
He could not stay, so I tucked him between my heart and my lungs to keep him safe and warm. My motherhood is invisible and always present. My instincts to care and nurture are directed to a crying Spark, an overwhelmed staff member. My motherhood is filled with an ever present sadness that occasionally bursts out as a solitary bout of howling grief. And after? A quiet sort of peace.