I spent yesterday blissfully unaware that it was International Bereaved Mother's Day. Today, when I looked at my BLM blogs, I saw not only that this day of remembrance exists, but that I had missed it.
I say that I was blissfully unaware because I don't know how I feel about this day. I understand the idea behind it, a special day for the moms whose children are not here here to give her the burnt toast and runny eggs they made for the very first time, all by themselves. Her child is not here to get red marker all over the carpet, the table, himself as he made her a messy but oh-so-adorable card. Her baby is not here to give her a lopsided smile. My Baby is not here to simply spit up on me. Our children are not here. And they never will be. Thanks for the reminder: a holiday of absence, a holiday of hell.
If I chose to think about my self as a mother- which I do not- I would want to be remembered on Mother's Day. Why does it have to be separate? Is this the 60s all over again?
Oblivious mom- "Separate but equal!" the active mother chides me, face buried in the chubby cheeks and snot nose of her little one.
Superior mom- "Don't want these crying, empty-armed, brokenhearted women sniveling here while I, the real mother, am enjoying this vase full of
Me- "They are weeds by the way, excuse me while I remove myself to a corner to go cry. My day was last week anyway. I got nothing from Blue Sunday, he's already given me all I'll ever get of him". That will put her in her place.
I am still supposed to ask those actively mothering someone small and earthly how mother's day was for them, if the kids came across with any nice bling? There is nothing to ask me about my International Bereaved Mother's Day I suppose. How awkward would that be "Did you have a nice time crying alone again Sunday?" Yes, yes I did.
Look, even Newsweek is mocking me:
I hate summer, winter, fall and spring
Red and yellow, purple, blue and green, I hate everything
George Strait, I Hate Everything