For many people, Mother’s Day is a joyous occasion. One filled with flowers, pancakes in bed, and homemade gifts from kiddos. Though I have had my fair share of happy memories on Mother’s Day, it is still a day of sorrow for me. Since my mother passed away when I was a baby, this has become another day to mourn. Try as I might to have a positive outlook, the blues still sweep over me like an overcast sky. Though I am blessed with an amazing husband and incredible kids, there is this aching hole in my heart. A hole that so many of you readers can relate to, as well.

Mother’s Day, like many holidays, can be a reminder of loss for so many of us. This could be the day that marks another year of infertility. The day that showcases the loss of a child or mother, whether through death or a strained relationship. Perhaps, this is the first year without your mother or child. If that is the case, I am so sorry, friend. 

I can attest that this Mother’s Day did not shape up the way I had envisioned. The day started out well enough, with a lovely walk around my community lake. There were even three turtles sunbathing along the trail. My husband and I dreamed of our future together, as we often do. We talked about vacations we had planned, our hopes, dreams, and at one point on our walk, I even warned him that I was feeling rather melancholy. Though, he already knew I’d be sad. 

My mother is absent from Mother’s Day. She has been absent from Mother’s Day for as long as I can remember. I can’t celebrate with her. Sure, I can buy her flowers and put them in a vase in her memory. I can release balloons. I can go to the beach where her ashes were scattered. I can do so many things. I have done so many things, with the exception of releasing balloons. I’m pretty sure that’s not good for the environment.

I have the best husband. If you are lucky enough to know him, then you know how loving he is. His loyalty is legendary. He has the patience of a saint, which is necessary to deal with a woman like me. A woman who challenges EVERYTHING. A woman who does not shy away from emotions. You can read them plainly on my face. I am, and have always been, eccentric. I don’t say this as an apology. I say this because it is the truth. I am A LOT, and I needed a man who was able to withstand a lot. Brian is that man, and on this Mother’s Day he would need all the patience he could muster. This Mother’s Day was one for the record books.

You see, friend, I may not shy away from emotions, but I do have a tendency to push them down. That is until I can’t any longer. So, when grief threatened to derail my Mother’s Day, I put on my best smile and swallowed it whole. It sat in my stomach like a concrete slab. I smiled, laughed, and all the while pushed past the grief. Until I couldn’t any longer. Until the grief clawed its way up my throat.

“I hate my floors!” I bellowed.

Brian and my son blinked back at my outburst.

“I’m sorry, what?” Brian had asked.

“I freaking hate these floors! They show everything: all the dust, hair, and dirt. We need to replace them.”

My husband made a face. “Babe, we can’t afford to replace them anytime, soon. You know that.”

“Oh, sure, that’s just perfect,” I exploded. “You spend our money on whatever you want, but when I want to spend a little money, the answer is no.” 

I knew the words leaving my lips were a lie before I spoke them into existence. Brian is not a spendthrift. I am. He always spoils me, working above and beyond to get me what my heart desires. Yet, I couldn’t swallow the words. There was too much grief spilling from my lips.

Brian and I argued some more. Then, we attempted to mop the floor to little avail. He even went as far as to take me to Lowes to get a better mop and floor cleaner. Nothing worked. My floors looked as dingy and dirty as ever, and I lost it. LOST IT. I am not using hyperbole here, Dear Reader. I stomped up the stairs and had a regular tantrum. I wish I could say I instantly apologized for my ridiculous behavior, but I didn’t. In fact, when Brian came upstairs to apologize for something he didn’t do, I continued arguing with him. It wasn’t until an hour later that I allowed my daughter to talk me down, so to speak.

She sat on my bed and allowed me to cry. Then, she said in her still-quiet voice, “I’m sorry you’re sad about your mom.”

That was my aha moment. My mother. Of course, that was the reason for my outburst. After a few minutes, and a few more tears, we walked downstairs, sat in adirondack chairs in my garden, and allowed the evening breeze to cool our faces. 

Brian came up to me with a tentative smile. “You okay, now?” he asked.

“Yes, my love. I am so sorry. I just miss my mom,” I whispered back.

He pulled me up into an embrace. “I’m sorry, too.”

 “I know,” I murmured, as a tear trickled down my cheek.

“We can get a new floor,” he announced a moment later.

I laughed at the absurdity of that statement. “That’s not necessary.”

Needless to say, he made an appointment with a flooring company to give us a consultation. Told you he was amazing.

Mother’s Day isn’t easy for me. Perhaps, it isn’t easy for you, either. In case no one told you, it’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to grieve. Sometimes, the pain is just too much to contain. Sometimes, you have to lose your way in order to find yourself, again. Yeah, sometimes, that’s all it takes.