My mother, God rest her soul, is long gone from Earth. Of course I still think about her every Mother’s Day, and plenty of days in between. But there’s no place to send the card and flowers now.
Mothering is quite a calling. It’s a vocation, and it begins (hopefully) with great excitement and anticipation, is accomplished with an excruciating amount of hard work and a 24/7 commitment for at least twenty years, and brings both unbounded joy and agonizing pain.
A lot of women (and some men) are terrific mothers. Some do it alone. Some are great at it. Some are horrible.
Whether your biological mom was a good’un or not, she did get you here. If yours was one of those who left you with emotional wounds that made you pound pillows under a theraputic eye, I’m really sorry. But even so, she managed to do that one, really good thing: she managed to nourish you for the better part of a year, and then present you to the world.
So no matter what you think of your mom, spend at least one day a year appreciating what she did for you.
Thanks, Mom. I hope I’m making you glad you got me here.