Since writing this I learned that Mother's Day was not the creation of the evil geniuses at Hallmark. It was created by Anna Jarvis of West Virginia in 1907. She started the tradition of wearing carnations: pink if your mother is alive; white is your mother is deceased.
originally posted on May 11, 2003
sometimes a lie is the best thing
This is a simple truth: the only way onto this planet (sans spacecraft) is via a mother. Sure, modern science has blurred a few lines about who exactly a mother is, although surrogacy has been around since biblical times. But even with test tubes and Petri dishes, it all boils down to the same thing. The largest cell joins the smallest cell, and creation takes place.
So a mother could be considered a vessel, a ship. A storage space that leads you to a passageway – a point of entrance into this world. Thus a connection/bond like no other is formed. We lived inside of this being. We were literally nurtured by her body. Fed by what she took in, good or bad. Her body offered shelter and protection. And then when certain conditions came together, we emerged, and were literally cut from that which created us. And that is why we cry.
No matter what happened after that, we still share that connection. We will have it with no one else. It is a one-time deal. No one comes into this world alone. There will only ever be one person who got us here. Like it or not, those are the facts.
Today I read an entry about the kinds of mothers that there are. The author mentioned mothers no longer with us, those with children who are no longer of this earth, mothers who no longer have custody of their children (because of court orders, adoption, or otherwise), and mothers who are estranged from their offspring, or at least in complicated relationships. I would like to add to that list mothers who felt that the best decision for them both was to not take things to term. They are all mothers, and should be honored on this day.
Today being that day brought to us by Hallmark, and sponsored by 1-800-flowers.com, South Western Bell, and Avon, I, of course, thought about my own mother. Mother’s Day 1999 was the last time I sent her a card. Had I known then that it would be the last, I’m still not sure what I would have said. I know on some deep level that she loved me, and that she knew I loved her. That my leaving was the best thing for me, and in some ways her, too. That she never wanted me to take on the role of mother to her, and yet it happened….