writing for self-discovery

I’ve never admitted this to anyone but as Mother’s Day rolls around, I’m reminded of the strange disconnect I experienced as a mom. Maybe you can relate. Maybe not. Here’s the story.

As a young adult, motherhood wasn’t on my to-do list. I’d never given it much thought. Neither had my first husband. We were about three years into the marriage when his highschool sweetheart wound up pregnant. As it turned out, he was the father. I left him with her in Muskogee, Oklahoma – can’t say I was terribly disappointed to escape Muskogee or my philandering husband.

Children weren’t on the agenda three years later when I married again. But after a tumultuous six months we had a night of unprotected passion and…our divorce was final the day before my first daughter was born.

Six years later, married again, I gave birth to my second daughter near Alum Creek, Texas. My husband was an accountant for a company that laid oil pipelines, hence Texas. Two years after that, my third sweet girl arrived. By then we’d moved into the eye-blink town of Smithville.

My daughters are the joy of my life. As they were growing up, every year when Mother’s Day approached they went into giggling-hush-hush mode. Breakfast in bed was the highlight. I awoke to chocolate ice cream on Trix cereal one memorable morning.

But I promised a confession and here it is.

Every year it was the same. Amid the hubbub of my own household, I forgot that I also had a mother. It would hit me, perhaps the night before, or the morning of, and I’d panic that I hadn’t given a single thought to honoring that dear woman on her special day. It was too late to mail a card, but with a hurried personal call to the florist in my hometown who was a friend from school, and a Happy Mother’s Day Skype with Mom later in the day, I always covered my dilinquent tracks in time.

Mom passed a year and nine months ago. But it’s strange – as that day approaches and I see promos for flowers or gifts popping up on my phone, I forget that I’m a mother. All my thoughts are of her until one of the girls calls with a cheery, happy Mother’s Day Mamma, and I recall that I’m the matriarch now.

As a result of those chotic, childrearing years, I understand if my kids momentarily forget me. In Bali I’m a day ahead anyway and no one caring for toddlers can be expected to keep in mind the time zone variations of my reality on the other side of the globe. It’s a thrill and a joy whenever I hear from them.

Before I bid you a happy day and get on with mine, I want to mention how freeing and healthy it is to have no expectations. It’s the key to contentment. If you don’t expect something from someone, you won’t be disappointed if it doesn’t materialize. Unmet expectations are at the core of unhappiness.

Here’s wishing you a very happy Mother’s Day whether you hear from your offspring or not! Send your wishes to them first If they have children – jog their memory – remind them that you exist. They’re busy!