Mother’s Day for me is like ripping off a band-aid and realizing the wounds fresher than expected and it needs another coat of bactine. Facebook on Mother’s Day is that times however many people post sweet pictures, cute gifs, and sappy one liners meet paragraphs. It’s a day I try and forget about and so it sneaks up each May like a Sniper ready for it’s increasing kill number.
This Mother’s Day was nothing like that. I knew in advance it was coming, looming over me because my Dad’s girlfriend wouldn’t stop talking about it. (She hates her mother) To all people who hate their mother, don’t talk about how much you hate your mother in front of someone whose mother is dead. You may have a million good reasons to hate your mother, you may wish she was dead. Well my mother is dead, fuck you.
Maybe it’s a lack of empathy but I’ve always felt this way when people bitch and complain about their shitty mothers. And it’s not I don’t get it. Some mothers are shitty, some are down right abusive, and that sucks it really sucks. But you can get rid of an abusive mother, you can avoid a shitty mother, a dead mother is dead and the last thing I want to hear about is how much you hate your mother especially when it’s for stupid reasons and not serious ones.
Anyway, I knew it was coming and I was prepared to visit her grave with sunflowers and daisies although that ended up being a bust. I was prepared to avoid facebook, and read the day away instead of playing at life. None of that happened. I woke up logged on Facebook saw all the posts, and …
Nothing. I wasn’t happy about it, I didn’t awww and swoon about all the happy people in the world. I didn’t purposefully seek those posts out in fact I tried my best to avoid them, but nothing. No one two punches to my chest, no sharp pains, or bandaids being ripped off the corners of my soul. All was fine. I went through my day called my grandmother and my aunt to wish them a happy Mother’s Day.
I played a game of cards with the family, I did my usual life stuff and nothing… not a damn thing. Seventeen years and I can finally stomach Mother’s Day at least a little bit anyway.