The Day After Mother's Day

I waited a Day to post my thoughts on Mother’s Day.

A whole day.

Happy Mother’s Day.

I’ve been thinking about it since I woke up on Sunday morning, needing to make Mother’s Day muffins for brunch, realizing I had no butter, running to grocery store and watching the barrage of young men scour the Hallmark aisle for cards that had that special Mother’s Day meaning.

Well that’s not exactly true.

I have been haunted by the jewelry commercial that has the dad talking to the baby about how great a mom his wife is…..the mom hears the dad talking over the baby monitor and she walks in to be presented with a lovely Mother’s Day bauble…..

It haunts me...and I turn the channel when it comes on. 

And then I think…

Bitter?…..bitter party of one? We can seat you now.

I wasn’t going to post because I don’t want to be that bitter person. But then I had two thoughts: 

1.       This is my blog and my own outlet.

2.       AND, did you know that parents who have lost a child are 50% more likely to get cancer? I personally (truly) think it’s all that bottled angst. And trying to live in a world that just doesn’t know quite what to do with people who have lost a child. All that bottled hoo-ha turns into cellular nastiness. So I am releasing my angst now so I don’t get cancer.

There are three holidays I could really do without: Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and Valentine’s Day. How about, ‘Hey You’re a Cool Person’ Day? 

Or ‘Wow, I Love Your Shoes Day?’ 

Or ‘Wine Day?’ Wine Day would be fun.

And this is not to discredit all the Mamas. I love the Mamas. I know many and I get a great joy out of being in their lives. I love their children and watching them grow. Perhaps that is why this post, and this day is so hard for me. Parenthood is such a great joy. I never want anyone to feel they have to taper their joy because of me.

But Mother’s Day for me is parental joy on crack. 

It oozes out of every media channel.....like syrup on my grief waffle.

Apparently, I have breakfast foods on the brain.

Sunday afternoon, Hubs pulled into the garage and announced “Mother’s Day is Oooovvveeerrr!” 

And he leaned over and kissed me. 

And then he took me on a grueling 50 mile bike ride; where I forgot about Mother’s Day because all I could think of was my angry thigh muscles.

Thigh muscles are not nearly as articulate as Grief. 

Grief is all… “I am sad because it’s Mother’s Day. But how long and how deeply am I sad? And how do I express myself in a productive manner?”

And to that I say….I don’t know but you are a pain in the hiney.

Because, really I don’t. Grief is a sneaky Bastard.

But Thighs…..Thighs on a 50 mile ride just say “THIGHS TIRED! NO PEDAL!”

And to that I say. “You have to pedal , otherwise we won’t get home.”

And then the thighs say “BIKE CRAP!”

And then I say, “Yes, I agree but you only have two more hills.” 

And then the thighs curse. 

They will get back at me. 

By August they will be bigger than a double-wide and eat small villages as a snack.

But they keep Grief at bay…..and that is okay.

Sipping a beer that evening, I thought ‘we really do have so much to be fortunate for.’ But somedays I don’t want to be fortunate, or gracious, or nice.

And then my thighs said, ANNNGGGGGRRRYYY TTHIIIIGGHHSSSS.

Someday’s the good cannot be forced.  The Grief and the Thighs just have to be felt.