Mother’s Day is usually a difficult holiday for me. To learn more about why, visit my post titled, “Pink Petunias.” Seriously, read that post first or the rest of this probably won’t make any sense.
I really dislike standing in the card aisle looking for a card for my mother. She wasn’t a great spiritual role model. I didn’t learn how to be a mother to my own daughter from her. She wasn’t always there for me. She isn’t now my best friend. You get the picture. Can’t Hallmark come out with a line of cards for dysfunctional families?!? Seriously! I know mine isn’t the only one!
As I was standing there amongst the cards last week with numerous other people doing the same thing I was doing, I couldn’t help wondering if I was the only one struggling to find a card that actually said something that fit my relationship, or lack thereof as the case may be, with my mother.
I feel like I should send her a card. She is still my mother after all. Although, there was a time when I didn’t send her a card. It’s like God has brought me full circle. I think, for a time, He had me distance myself because I had reached my limit on the pain I could endure. But then, I think I took it too far and allowed my heart to become hardened. So now I’m back to crying every Mother’s Day, and I don’t want to do that.
I am a mother now, and I love my daughter to pieces. I am trying to be a better mother for her than my own mother was for me. So each year, there is this battle raging inside of me. Part of me rejoices over the gift God has given me in my daughter, and part of me grieves for a mother with whom I have no relationship and who on this and every Mother’s Day is alone because she has chosen for it to be that way. My heart aches for her. I do love her, and I wonder if she knows that. There was a time when I wasn’t actually sure whether or not I loved her, but the love of God in me allows me to love her.
That’s why I asked for pink petunias for Mother’s Day. My mother-in-law and daughter potted some for me so they would keep until I can plant them around my mailbox. It seemed fitting somehow that they would come from my daughter. As if they were somehow bringing the three generations together even though they’re really not.
So…here’s to pink petunias. I am thinking of you today, Mom, and praying that God blesses you, as I will do each and every time I look at those flowers.