Another Mother's Day
mother's day & dealing with grief and its complications
Hello! It’s been a few weeks. Things have been chaotic on my end, but I’ve been working on how to express my thoughts on Mother’s Day. I always feel so many competing emotions (annoyance, sadness, joy, confusion) and I tried to distill it as best I could below. Thank you for being here.
Mother’s Day 2025
I lost my Mother 24 years ago. I was nine, it was in Winter 2001. When asked what I remember from that day, it’s all in bits and pieces. Time has fragmented my memories. I always think I’m remembering my own memory, but then it’s revealed I’ve actually adopted someone else’s memory. So much of what I know about my Mother are other people’s memories. It used to make me upset. I want my own memories! I want my own thoughts! Why did other people get to know her and not me? It’s cruel. It’s unfair. So many people got to know her, but I didn’t. Not when she was alive. That’s just how my life turned out. I know that now.
I feel like, after 24 years, I have a much fuller picture of my Mother. I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again: she was a whole person. She lived a whole life. I light up whenever someone tells me I look like her. That I have her face. It reminds me that she’s always with me. Those memories matter, but most importantly, I’m an artifact of her life. My existence reminds me that she too was alive. That she lived. I know that now.
Sometimes I need to remind myself of this. On days when my grief jolts and surprises me. I’m reminded that my sadness is recognition of her life. Of her importance. Not just to me, but to all who knew her. Who spent time with her. My grief doesn’t shatter me as it once did. It doesn’t limit me as it once did. It doesn’t make me feel as inadequate as it once did. But it still feels unfair. There is so much time I’ve had without her, sometimes I can’t believe it myself. In moments or in dreams when I see her I ache for more. I want more time with her. But time is the one thing I’ll never get more of. This used to make me so angry when I was younger. I felt so abandoned. When I was younger I used to lash out at those who left me. Who made me feel not good enough. I even lashed out at those who did make me feel good enough. There was never any amount of good I could feel because a whole part of me was missing and I didn’t have the vocabulary to say that yet. I didn’t know I could admit to myself that I was sad and soft. That what I wanted was a Mother. I wanted to be Mothered. But no one could give me that. It was an impossible ask. I know that now.
My grief made me lonely. It made me abandon other people before I thought they could abandon me. It made me cold and callous. It made me self-destructive and angry. Gosh, I was angry all the time! At nothing! Or, well at my Mother I suppose, but I felt too embarrassed to say that out loud. I felt too ashamed of my own grief. My own depths of sadness surprised me. I was too afraid to tell anyone about them. But the depths grew. They grew wider and more cavernous than I knew what to do with them. For a period in my younger years they swallowed me entirely. I thought the only way out was getting other people to validate that I was lovable. That I was enough. That there was something special about me and that they would never leave me. This was a child-like reaction. I know that now. But back then it was the only thing I thought worth chasing. If someone else could love me, and I mean really love me, then maybe my grief could be soothed? I was out sourcing my grief onto other people. Now let me just say: this was a horrible plan. It did not work. There was no amount of love someone could give me that was enough. I become venomous. I wanted more. I demanded more! I pushed people away that I loved because their love was not enough. Nothing could be enough. I know that now.
I didn’t know how to discuss my grief. Talking about a dead parent felt taboo. It made me feel like wanting to express it was too much. So I did the opposite. I chased people who would always make me chase them. Who would give me tiny expressions of love and adoration whenever they decided (and I never knew when they could come!). It’s embarrassing to admit, but their fluidness in my life gave me a purpose. Now if I could get them to commit to me to really love me then I must be special, right? I must be worthy, right? Well, no. In reality it meant I let people dictate how I felt about myself. I would contort myself into who I thought these other people wanted me to be. It meant I let people talk down to me. Ruin my self-confidence in the name of trying to be loved. It was really quite sad. I know that now.
What my grief has taught me is that there is no substitute for a Mothers love. But there is also nothing embarrassing about wanting it. About needing it. I know that now.
I miss my Mother. I wish I got to know her. I’ll spend tomorrow thinking about her. About the ways she still visits me. When it rains I’m reminded that it means she’s thinking about me. My Dad told me this shortly after she passed, and it helps soothe my grief. I have to believe she is proud of the life I built. That she is proud of me. I miss her. I will never know what it’s like to have her love for longer than 9 years, but I will always know she is with me. When it rains. When she visits me in my dreams. I know that now.
Happy Mother’s Day. A day dedicated to a parent is tough for us all. But I celebrate my Mother. I celebrate this beautiful life she gave me. I celebrate my sister and my friends who are Mothers. Who I get to see grow and change and give their children wonderful lives. Tomorrow I’ll spend the day with other Motherless people. I hope you’re able to spend it with people who matter. Or to spend it alone as well. I hope the day washes over you, or you forget about it, or you do something kind for yourself. It’s a big day of feels for me. If it’s the case for you I get it. I’m sending you all my big love here in Vancouver. I feel as if my Mother will be visiting me tomorrow. In fact, I know that now.
your grief is seen! ❤️ from someone who also lost their mother, i am sending a big hug your way. it never gets easier but we learn ways to express it the way we need to in order to survive it❤️