Mother’s Day Half Empty

It’s this time of year when the commercials, advertisements, card aisles, and flower baskets remind me that I’m part of the group.  I’m a mother.  And I love that.

It also reminds me of what I don’t have.

There will be no heart felt conversations of my childhood past.

No lunch dates with shopping afterwards planned.

No bonding over motherhood.


There won’t be any of that.

It’s not that this isn’t my reality for all of the year, it is.   I’ve grown to know that it’s ok.  It’s just part of my life and though it won’t change, I still have a great life to live.

It’s just that this time of year I’m more in tune to mothers and daughters picking out flowers together or maybe they’re out having lunch laughing and my heart longs for more.

Reality sets in, there just isn’t more for me.

This is it.

And that’s o.k.

11 thoughts on “Mother’s Day Half Empty

  1. Life is unexpectedness and disappointment. Life is also acceptance and grabbing the good if and when it comes our way. I never had any of the things most have with their mothers. I won’t take your space here, but I will tell you that it wasn’t until my mother developed Alzheimer’s secondary to her kidney failure, that I finally got a “mother.” For the first time in my life, I have heard “I love you” and have felt a soft hand on my arm. I could have turned away since I never had what a child needs,… but I’ve decided to take what life has unexpectedly handed me: love from the woman who birthed me. She couldn’t give it to us when she was unaffected by dementia, but now she can. Do I be sad that it takes mental deterioration for her to finally say she loves us? Or do I selfishly grab because it feels so good to finally hear when I wished for as a child. And do I question why she never could say it before? Do I wonder which is/was the real her? The one frozen out of love before dementia? Or is this the real woman, our real mother? The one that dementia has doled us all a second chance at life with. I don’t know, Jen. But I hear you. And I know, you are like me, during those years that I thought would never be any different. And at the last phase of my mother’s life, as she is dying from kidney failure… we get this. Life: a gobsmack up and down on our souls.

  2. Sending you a hug. I have the other half…a great mom still in my life…but wasn’t able to have a child, even though I desperately wanted one. Mother’s Day is very bittersweet for me, as well.

  3. ::hugs::

    One day I will be a mom, and I consider myself extremely lucky to have someone as amazing as you to lean on for wisdom and an occasional rant :) Maybe not a huge consolation, but hopefully all of us who adore the shit out of you and think you are amazing can help fill a little of that hole. Thank you for being you, and for giving the world 2 really awesome kids.

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