Mother's Day...a day of flowers, of breakfast in bed on a tray that ends up a bit lighter than when it left the kitchen, or maybe brunch at some fancy restaurant. If you're a churchgoer, maybe a nice corsage fundraiser by the Ladies Aid Society or other group. Maybe a day to yourself shopping or going to a movie while husband and kids clean the house.
But not all of us are so lucky...or have such fond memories.
When you reach a certain age, you may no longer have a mother around to celebrate. Maybe she has already died, or perhaps she is alive but no longer aware of your presence due to illness (coma, Alzheimers, or other condition). Or, far too often, she is still alive but the two of you are virtual strangers due to divergent paths.
I spent far less time with my mother in her last years, before she died in 2005. The stated cause of death on the certificate was/is heart disease and cancer, but in reality she was poisoned. Not physically, but spiritually, from a steady diet of hate-talk right-wing radio. She'd always been far more conservative than I was (growing up, she and my older brother would argue politics; I became a Democrat because I agreed with him far more than I did her), but the likes of Rush Limbaugh and his ilk pushed us further and further apart, to where about all we could talk about in our brief conversations was family news. I would stay in the house just long enough to satisfy social convention, then rush to the sanctuary of my in-laws' house a half-block away, where we saw eye to eye on politics and social issues.
And for many, "mother" is merely short for a common curse word; there may have been abuse, may have been neglect, but your vision of "mother" bears no relation to what appears on the Hallmark cards.
Let this be an open thread, to share memories of mothers: good, bad or indifferent, and thus attempt to heal our wounded souls.