It was the day before Mother’s Day and I found myself at the store to pick up a few forgotten items. I didn't bother trying to be presentable and ended up at the store wearing a baseball cap, sweats and sans make-up. Pretty.
Anyway, I hurried past the card aisle, anxious to get the stuff I needed and get out.
Glancing up the aisle clogged with people searching for last minute Hallmark well wishes, something strange happened.
Or didn't happen.
For the first time in nearly thirty years since my mom’s been gone, my internal GPS didn't point me to that aisle. The divining rod in my head didn't lead me to search for a card for my mom. There was no back-to-reality jerk. No surprisingly/unsurprisingly painful reminder realization that, no -- there’s no need to buy her a card because she’s not here anymore.
This is a good thing, I think, but I can’t tell you how I got to this place.
There still isn't a day that passes without me thinking of mom, wondering what advice she’d give me about my job, marriage or how she’d be over the moon about the grandchild and son-in-law she never had the pleasure of meeting.
Yet my feet continued on. Past the Hallmark calls to Honor that Special Mom. Past the endcaps' floral pop-ups. Past the impulse-buy Mother’s Day specially marked candy at the checkout lane.
I miss mom on this Mother’s Day and every day. I always will. But the ever present grief over her absence lessens a little each day, each year. Sure, I might get a little misty later on if I think on it, find the tears and allow them to come.
But yesterday and right now, I’m in this place of grief-twinged acceptance.
When your mom isn't here, I think you come to that place after awhile, even if it takes a lifetime to happen. You may not even know how you came to it, but you will.
Trust me. You will.
|Mother's Day medals from the people who made me a mom.|