I'm Still Here... A Reflection on Mother's Day

Sunday will mark the fifth Mother's Day I will have spent without her. Sunday will also mark the fifth Mother's Day that I, myself, actually have been a mother. Life's timing still takes my breath away sometimes. 
...

Brunch? Nope. A nice dinner out somewhere? Not so much. Ma's favorite Mother's Days were spent at home, with us girls, my Dad, her parents and her sister. I'm pretty sure we usually just barbecued after planting some flowers. Or maybe we even picked up Burger King, since an occasional Whopper made her happy. I'm fairly certain I made her more than one macaroni necklace and homemade card, always secretly wishing she would put them in her Hope Chest for safekeeping. Mother's Day was uncomplicated, happy, warm and sunny... meant for playing with bubbles saved from Easter baskets and dirty knees from "helping" pot the petunias. 

The ease of togetherness and not feeling obligated to share her M&Ms...that's what she loved about her special day.
...

1988

She didn't want to be wished a "Happy Mother's Day" because it was anything but happy. It was raw, unfair, and unnatural. She had lost her oldest child and now the second Sunday of May was a glaring reminder of how cruel life could be. She hated it. Any forward progress she had made in grieving had been unwound. Any flowers or cards we gave were met with a half-smile, a quick hug, and a quiet "Thank you." Any semblance of what we had known of the day to celebrate the most important woman in our lives floated away like bubbles catching a breeze off the wand, just right.

And on that day, it rained.
So, I searched. I searched for the rainbows Debbie had promised she'd send.
She didn't disappoint. 
The best gift Ma got that year was Hope. There is always Hope.

...

By the time I was 13, I grew impatient with the uncomfortableness of Mother's Day. "I'm still here, Mom," I told her, because at thirteen years old, I knew that I knew it all. She understood where I was going, even if it came out wrong. Even after she had lost her own Mom the year after that, she tried. She tried to embrace the day, for me. After all, I was still there.

...

So here I am, almost 5 years after Ma changed her residence to the other side of the stars, that I will spend the second Sunday of May, embracing the moment for my children. After all, they are here. They are who made ME a mother. But my Ma... she made me the mother I am. And for her, I will celebrate. We will take our annual Circle Tour, finding comfort in the simplicity of the day. We will search for rainbows and any signs to show my children SHE is still here, invisible, very much a part of me, very much a part of them. We will delight in our hotdog picnic, enjoy the warmth of the sun and the ease of being together as a family. 

And maybe even blow a few bubbles up high to Heaven.
One may even reach her. 
Hope. There is always Hope.