My Aunt Cindy gave me this card a few weeks ago. It’s a Mother’s Day card that my Mom made for her mom, my Grandma Ruth, when she was still young. Inside was a hot plate she had made, and a note that said:
I’d never seen this before, but I’m thinking of it today, Mother’s Day, the first Mother’s Day since Mom died. What I’m thinking of is Mother’s Day of 2007. And what I’m trying to remember is if I acknowledged that Mother’s Day to my Mom. Because Grandma Ruth died in December of 2006, and that would have been my Mom’s first Mother’s Day without her mother. And my Grandma Donna died in September of 2006, so that would have also been the first Mother’s Day without his mother for my Dad. Did I notice? Did I say anything? I probably did, I hope I did. But I don’t recall, and that’s troubling to me.
So I’m looking at this card that is probably around 60 years old, that Mom made for her mom. “It isn’t very much,” she says. “I hope you like it.” The hot dish has lost a lot of its jewels over the years, but it’s still beautiful. Knowing my Grandma Ruth, I’m sure that she loved it. The fact that it still exists, that it was put away in safe keeping so that I could be seeing it now, today, 60 years later, attests to the fact that it was treasured.
What I treasure is seeing my Mom doing what I used to do on Mother’s Day: remembering her mom, making her something, worrying that it wouldn’t be enough, even though that never happened because how could it? I had brought back from Mom’s house a set of swan salt and pepper shakers that was the first Mother’s Day gift that I had ever bought for my Mom. The metal is tarnished on them, I had to super glue one of the goose’s heads back on. But my Mom still had them. 35 years later. Because they were special enough.
I’m certainly not special in today being the first Mother’s Day without a mother. I’m not even special in my own family. Today’s the same for my sister, and for my brother. Both Mom and Dad had the same day, back in 2007. There’s a far-too-high number of people in the world on this day, in 2021, having their first Mother’s Day without a mother. Some of them are people that I know, that I care about. And over the years, even more people that I know have had the same. So much suffering. So much pain. I’m not special. I know this to be true.
So that’s why I’m thinking of Mother’s Day of 2007, if I acknowledged the pain that my Mom and my Dad must have had that day, all of my aunts and uncles, all feeling the same way as I am today. And am I acknowledging the pain that so many other people are feeling right now, in the present? Not even just those who are experiencing this for the first time, but have been for years? Friends and family who have lost their mothers, have lost their children, have strained relations with their mothers, have chosen not to become mothers, or have yearned to be mothers. My pain is fresh, but theirs is not. It’s all still real.
And that’s what fills my days and my nights, the constant wondering if I did enough, if I’ve done enough, if I ever was enough. Like Mom did before me. And if she was here right now, I know what she would say because I can hear her saying it to me:
Rik, enough.
At some point, we have to put ourselves at peace and let go of these thoughts and let go of the guilt and let go of the pain because it’s not letting go of the people that we love. At some point, we just have to say enough and to be enough. So that’s what I’m giving to my Mom this year. Something my sister told to me last week was that if Mom knew what I was doing to myself, that she would be calling her trying to figure out how to make me stop. So what I want for her is to be at peace, so for her I will be at peace. It’s not very much. But I hope she’ll like it.