mother's day

It’s been a while since I’ve written. Horrible, I know, both for my credibility as a writer and my sanity.

These last few months have been a whirlwind of events and emotions, and I’m still working on wrapping my brain around everything that has happened…

Mother’s Day is almost here, one of several days out of the year that I have come to dread. It would be easy to ignore the day completely if I were not a mother myself, but alas, I am. It’s another one of those days that I find to be bittersweet, even sorrowful. My son is still young enough to revel in the joys of glitter and macaroni on cardstock and I have imparted to him the importance and sentiment of homemade things over those store- bought, just as my mother did for me as a child. However now the joy and pride and swell of emotion that every mama feels well up inside of her when she receives a crayon family portrait is now accompanied by the stark reality that my mother is gone.

For as many years as I can remember I’ve always tried to make something beautiful for my Mama on her special days: birthday, Mother’s Day, Christmas. Trying somehow to express the immeasurable love I felt for her in some visual capacity. I remember as a child we would frequently make crafts for no given reason other than having fun. Melted crayon and wax paper sheets cut into various shapes, how she would iron them if the sun wasn’t quite warm enough on the patio that day. The paper ‘diamond’ ring I made her when I was five or six, colored with gold and blue crayons that lived in her jewelry box and now lives in mine, all the things I made over the years that she saved.

After my son was born I became even more sentimental, which I didn’t know was possible. I made scrapbooks and wrote poems, baked cupcakes and pies. Once I had my grandmother send me, cross country the proper ingredients and recipe to make her favorite: mincemeat.

Maybe it would be easier if I had long ago given up the practice of making gifts for my mama, if we weren’t such a creative and artistic family, if I didn’t miss her so much, if, if, if…. If she weren’t gone…

As I’ve written it’s begun raining, a light misting rain to match the tear drops that slide down my cheeks without me noticing. …

I know she knew the love I feel for her, but I still want to tell her and show her and make her pretty things to express that love….but I can’t send her a Mother’s Day card in heaven, can I?