Mother’s Day…

This day is often a combination of thoughts and emotions.  Watching Facebook fill up with photos of everyone and their mother, literally, is wonderful to see.

The memos to mothers who are no longer living are nice to read.   These appear often with my friends, being the age we are.

Mother’s Day is one of those days that is a mixed thing.  Some women love this day.  They are pampered and loved and given the very best  that can be had.  Others, just ignore it.  It is just another day.

I have vacillated between the two.  I have been given gifts and taken to nice brunches.  I have had the wonderful privilege of having the handmade gifts from my school aged daughters.  I loved each homemade flower, and glue soaked cards.  I still have a few of them.  They are precious mementos  of the reason you celebrate this day.  They give me joy in just remembering them.

As I have mentioned often, my mother passed away when I was 11.  I spent many mother day weeks in school coloring pictures while others made cards and gifts for their mothers.  I really disliked this day as a child, and young adult.  I didn’t know how I would feel once I had a child.  It was a day that loomed ominously in front of me.

So, with these feelings, I decided early on in my motherhood, that this day would be spent trying to have a fun day with my girls. Did I always succeed?  No.  But, for a few years we did go to get large ice cream sundaes.  We would take long drives and we would laugh a lot.  They were fun days for me too.  I love hearing my daughters laugh together.

When I approached the decade of my 50’s, I realized that, although I did not have my mother with me, I had someone who did try valiantly to fill her shoes as best she could.  My older sister, who was 15 when my mother died, tried to fill her shoes in many ways.  She cheered my younger sister and I up on our walks to school.  She made certain there were gifts on our birthdays and for Christmas.  She gave her opinion on boys we dated, not that we wanted to hear what she said.  She was there, a constant, a steady voice to me.

Did I appreciate this?  Oh no, I didn’t.  Like I said before, I actually did not realize the role she filled until ten years ago.  This thought hit me like a ton of bricks, to be honest.  This sister of mine, the one who irritated me and frustrated me, she was the one who finished raising me.

So, now, on Mother’s Day, when I see photos of moms and daughters together, I think of my sister.   I am grateful and although it was decades ago, I am glad she was there for me.    So, thank you Dottie.  You are loved.

Thanks for stopping by today, DAF

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