I hate Mother’s Day. This because my mother wasn’t a nice person to her family. She was nice to everyone else. From the earliest time I can remember she made it clear she did not want me. I was defective. Part of the that was probably guilt for getting the measles and feeling responsible for me being born blind but there were other reasons besides my being born imperfect. My brother was her special one and I knew it from the moment he was born.
I continued to disappoint. She wanted a girlie girl and she got a pink hating, tree climbing, holy terror who could think up things to annoy her without even trying. There is a picture of me at about a month old. My dad is cuddling me to him and has the goofiest look in his eyes. My mom is standing as far from me as she can get and still touch me.
When Cam got cancer and he became the defective one and she actually ordered my dad not to drive him to chemo and radiation. My dad was sneaking out of the house to do it with me and a few of his friends who had AIDS and would end up dying before his treatment was finished. Many years later when he was in remission, when Mom ended up in the hospital with heart congestion. He came down from Mountain View and walked in her hospital room and shut me out. He said something to her that left her screaming and never came to see her again in the 3 years she lived after that. I have no idea what he said to her because he refused to tell me and I really didn’t blame him because she had been truly awful to him while he was sick the first time.
But that left me the unfavoured and eldest to have her medical care and medical power of atty in my hands. When she went into dementia she started saying all the things I had always wondered if she was thinking. I soon had no doubt about how she felt about me. I did something that she didn’t want before she died. She wanted to be resuscitated at all costs if she coded but she had done that to my dad against his specific wishes and I knew I could not handle that so I signed the DNR. When she finally did die she had been in hospice almost a year and she had one lucid day and we talked and I told her to let go and she finally did a few hours later. So she may have wanted it at the end since all of her organs had failed by then.
Practicing a religion that reveres the Mother aspect of the Goddess is a bit of a problem for me because I do not revere my mother. My grandmother is the mother I was close to and why I am not a serial killer. But no, I do not honour the Mother aspect and one of the reasons I never wanted to take that role on myself. I don’t feel maternal in the least bit in the traditional sense. A caregiver yes, a healer, yes but mother, no. You didn’t want to be sick around my mom because she would abandon you so quick it wasn’t funny. My dad was the one you wanted when you were sick. He was the one who did diaper duty. He was the one who got up and fixed us breakfast on weekends. He was the brave one who went in the store and bought our Kotex when we were too shy. So if I honour the Mother aspect, it’s my dad and grandmother. My mother was the cruel mother.
This makes me hate Mother’s day, and not be any too fond of the trope, Maiden, Mother, Crone which is not a correct understanding of the majority of triple Goddesses anyway. Mother’s Day, bah humbug!
It’s funny how a word or a phrase can make you 6 years old again. I see blue bells and my brain goes straight back to jumping rope. You always started to warm up to the two person long jumping rope with “Bluebells, cockleshells, Eevie, ivy over! when you would start swinging the rope full circle.
Someone saying “Not last time but the night before…” will always trigger the rhyme “Not last night but the night before twenty three robbers came knocking at my door, as I got up to let them in etc.”
Choosing a team or an ‘it’ was “one potato, two potato” in our school. I suppose those rhymes could identify what groups or ethnicities we were to someone who studies playground poetry but to us it was a clearly defined ritual. To play the game you had to know the right rhyme whether it was jumping rope or hand games or hopscotch. Do kids still play those games? Do they still have their rituals of inclusion? Or are they missing it by not having PE or recess or computer games?