Digging my hole deeper

I imagine that for most mothers Mother's Day is a favorite holiday. It would mean a day off from regular household duties, gifts, and maybe even breakfast in bed, that is if you have a husband like mine. He has always gone the "extra mile" to ensure my day would be special. That included making (yes, making) carnation corsages and boutonnieres for me and the children ... white for me and him and red for the children. A Mexican tradition designated a white flower if your mother was deceased and red if she were living.

So it would seem that I would love and look forward to Mother's Day. But to the contrary I hate that day. It may seen a little extreme to say "hate", and I guess it is. I guess "dislike" would be more accurate. "Why?", you ask. There are several reasons. First, I am uncomfortable being the center of attention and having others serve me. I'm a "dyed in the wool" Martha. I am much happier doing things for others than the reverse. Second, I don't need a special day to feel loved or appreciated. I have always gotten that from my children and husband all year round and often in spite of my not being the best mother in the world. I have always felt loved. Third, I hate the commercialism of the day. It really bothers me that the world dictates that to show love you have to give gifts. I hate for anyone to feel like they HAVE to give me a gift just because it's Mother's Day, my birthday, anniversary, or whatever, I'd much rather "feel" their love all year, and I do. The best gifts for me are the lives that my children live ... and a card with a sweet remembrance is also special.

But perhaps the strongest reason for my dreading this day is because it brings back discomforting memories that I have tried to put behind me over the past fifty-five years. I thought I had succeeded until this year. But I think because I was not my best self this year, suffering from a bout with depression, those memories crept back, just making me feel worse. What was that memory that has had such an effect on me the past fifty-five years? It dates back to our wedding day, Thursday, May 13. I never dawned on me until a year later that Mother's Day is always the Sunday after our anniversary. That meant that Mother's Day would have been the Sunday after we were married, and I guess I was so preoccupied with being a newlywed that I didn't go see her, send her gift, or even a card. I was oblivious to what day it was. And this was her last Mother's Day on earth. She died in October. I have felt terrible about that even though I know she would have understood why my mind was elsewhere that day. I know that Jim didn't remember his sister-in-law, Jean, either, who had been a mother to him for over six years. This year, that memory came back again with more than the usual amount of pain and that didn't help the depression. I was struggling to keep myself from crawling into that hole that I had been digging for myself. But I was determined not to let that happen. But there were still challenges that I needed to conquer.