In this house, we hate Mother’s Day.
We hate it because both Emily and I lost our moms to horrible diseases and protracted illnesses. We hate Mother’s Day because it’s a reminder that we don’t have moms any more and we never will again.
It’s not as though we don’t remember our moms as often as we can. Quite the opposite, in fact. We strive to let our children know their long-gone grandmothers as best they can. I constantly tell my son stories about my mom, Emily the same. I see little things in my every day that remind me of her and I point them out; a flower she would have loved or the way she ate with her hands. Even overhearing a favorite curse word of hers is cause to tell my son a story about his grandma.
He knows their names—Susie and Carol—and he repeats them often. He points out a crow every time we pass one, asking if that’s bird my mother became when she died (a long story for another time). He scrunches his nose just as my mother did and I tell him how much he looks like her. He has a litany of questions on almost any topics, just like Emily’s mom.
In our home, we embrace our dead and we remember them loudly, publicly, and vividly.
Still, we hate Mother’s Day.
I can’t speak for Emily, but I hate it because I generally don’t like being told what to do and I don’t like being told that now is the time to remember my mother. And for the same reason I don’t like Father’s Day or birthdays, I hate the fact that we reserve this one day to honor our mothers publicly. Because, as my mom used to say, “Every day is Mother’s Day.”
But Emily and I are trying to change that and doing our best to put a positive spin on a negative day, to celebrate our babies’ mama.
Emily hates gifts. She’s not a fan of things as much as she is gestures. She’s the kind of woman who will take a handmade card and a thoughtful adventure over a pair of diamond earrings one-hundred times out of one hundred.
She also hates being the center of attention.
So, all things considered, a day for and about her, full of gifts and people singing her praises is antithetical to my wife’s idea of a good time.
A professional women’s soccer game, on the other hand? That’s directly up her alley.
And so, on one of the hottest days of the year, we four sat in the midday Carolina sun for a few hours, eating Dippin’ Dots and drinking lots of Gatorade and a little bit light beer, watching a few minutes of some of the best soccer players on Earth but mostly watching our kids play on the bouncy houses set up around the stadium at WakeMed Soccer Park. And, for us, it was perfect.
Will we ever look forward to Mother’s Day? Doubtful. But at least we can try to make the best of it.