I hate Mother's Day. in Deepest from a rock

hate Mother’s Day. I have truly tried to repress this feeling, but it insists on venting it’s spleen. This will be the third Mother’s Day without her and I really did think it would get easier. Time is supposed to put distance between you and the pain, and I suppose it does in a way. But it is an illusion that will shatter with the slightest resistance.
Hate seems like such an ugly word, but what else would you call it when something causes you to boil with mindless rage, swell with angry resentment, fill with soul-shattering disappointment and ache to the very marrow of your bones with grief.
Yes, I was truly blessed to have such an amazing mother. She was wonderful and loving and there just aren’t adjectives good enough to do her justice. She was perfect.
So that is why I hate Mother’s Day. And I know it makes me sound small, mean, jealous and not appreciative of what I had, but I don’t really care. Knowing that I had the best mother in the world doesn’t make it any easier to live without her. All of my beautiful memories don’t make up for the new ones that we’ll never get to make. I’m not ready to simply treasure the good times, because I’m still ranting that there won’t be any new times.
Am I jealous? Yes, of course. The jealousy is eating me alive and I hate all of your happy faces. Maybe one day I’ll move past this and can instead feel happy for those lucky enough to spend the day with their mother’s, but I don’t see it happening today.
They say it’s supposed to get easier with time, but I’m still so damned angry, still feel as though I was cheated somehow.