B and I started our day off at an adorable farm in the middle of the 'burbs, petting ponies, feeding pigs, and trying to figure out why the chickens wouldn't let us hold them. It was the perfect fall morning with the sun shining down on us. Near the end of our visit, we found ourselves on the tractor ride, sitting in the back of a rusty wagon, waiting to be pulled through a couple of acres of trees. As I looked at all the sweet toddlers pushing for room on the benches and gabbing to their mommas, it hit me like a brick. Everyone was there with their grandmothers. Everyone except us.
Sweet little voices called out "Gigi" and "Mimi" and something that sounded like "Boopie." In the Deep South, it is unclear if that was her grandmother moniker or her given name. She was a grandmother, nonetheless. The daughters took pictures of the smiling generations above and below them and there was a general consensus that we were in some sort of Hallmark commercial.
The grandmothers started introducing their little ones as we waited for our ride to start, comparing all the stats. Age. How many grandkids they have. Whether they lived in town or were just visiting. Slowly the introductions made it around the circle as I bit my lip and focused on answering B's questions about why there were no doggies riding with us. When it got to us, I plastered on the biggest fake smile I had, introduced B, and said cheerily, "It is just us today!"
The grandmother next to me patted my knee sweetly, and chirped, "Well, be sure to send your mom lots of pictures! And bring her next time!"
And I lost it. Ugly cry, frightened the other tractor riders, I wish someone would have just sedated me, lost it.
And when my tears had dried, when all the grandmothers had hugged me and told me about losing their own moms (or their fear of when that happens to their 90 year old moms), and the girls my age had looked at me with pity and heartbreak in their own eyes while subconsciously resting their hands on their own moms, we started the stupid tractor ride.
And it was perfect. We saw horses and squirrels. We stopped in a garden and learned about fall vegetables. A butterfly landed a foot away from B, and her smile and squeals were pure joy. It was the best morning we could have asked for this last day of this long September.
So, as we drove the long back roads home and B slept in the back seat, I thought about the morning. Had I ruined the morning for the other farm visitors? Was the whole tractor ride tainted by the sad girl with the seemingly endless stream of tears? I hope not.
It occurred to me, as well, that lately, friends are shielding me. Arguments with their moms aren't discussed or are abruptly ended with "I shouldn't be talking to you about this. It is really not a big deal." Mother daughter dates are glossed over with a "Oh, yep, we had fun" rather than the details I would have been given a year ago.
And that is sad. Friends not willing or wanting to share their own joy is so, so sad.
Don't stop sharing. Don't stop telling me about the joy you have with your mom, the wonderful relationship she has with your kids, how crazy she is driving you about where you are going to spend Christmas when it is only July.
Your having a relationship with your mom doesn't heighten my grief. Your hiding your relationship doesn't lessen it. If anything, I take joy in the fact that there are so many wonderful women I know who have strong, wonderful relationships with their own moms.
When I see your mom beaming more than you at your baby shower, my heart soars. Sure, I might cry a bit in the car on the way home, but I am elated for you. For her. For your unborn baby.
When your mom writes something on your Facebook wall that was meant to be private, I cringe and laugh with you. I don't begrudge you the adorable mess.
When you and your mom fight over something small - or even something big - I want to hear it. I still want to be the friend who you can lean on and who can relate. Sure, some of my bite might be gone and I might preach a lot more "life is short, give grace" but I am still there.
This past Mother's Day, as my Facebook feed filled with beautiful pictures of my friends and their beloved mommas, I couldn't look away. Not out of grief or heartbreak, but out of true happiness for all the love these pictures showed. All the relationships with their own little unique languages and patterns, all the memories that are still to be made. Each photograph was so precious in its own right and each reminded me in some way of my own sweet momma. Not of what I had lost, no. It reminded me of what I had experienced. And lived. And been blessed to call my own.
So, please, share your moms with those of us who find ourselves motherless. We promise to share in all your happiness and joy... and keep the ugly crying to a minimum. At least in front of the kids.
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| One of my favorite Gamma Phi events: Mother Daughter Tea. How wonderful to see all these amazing women and the women that raised them. |
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