Mother’s Days

I go back to bed again, so tired, trying to sleep, hoping to dream of my son, or at least make the day pass faster.

Firsts are never easy. First birthdays, his and mine, first Christmas, now first Mother’s Day. They tell you that, and you think you understand, but you don’t, until you live it.

This is the second time today I thought I could nap but, like the first time, I only cry. I get up and start to write.

I am in Spain, and I had a wonderful call with my daughter this morning, Saturday night her time. We chatted for a half hour, easy and loving conversation. It wasn’t until we were hanging up that I started to cry, realizing that this was the only call I was going to get this year, or any year from now on.

Last year I was on Vancouver Island, but Carson had already started his summer job up-island so I didn’t see him. I had a text, a call, and delivery flowers from him, though.

I need to hold the memory, because there will never be anything more.

I tried to be a good mother. I did the best I could at the time, but now I look back and see all my failings.

I loved them. They joked about my “unconditional love face.” I wanted them to have everything I didn’t have, the acceptance, the understanding, the opportunities.

Yet with the opportunities came expectations. They felt they didn’t live up to them, as their father made sure to let them know. I went along with it, I stayed, because I thought it was the best for them.

Doesn’t guilt automatically come with being a mother?

When their father left, so did I, selling the family home, going travelling for years. I thought they were adults who would benefit from my getting my nose out of their business, but I see now that after losing the family that had always been there, they probably weren’t ready to have their mother leave, too.

But we can only move forward. My daughter and I are closer now than we have ever been, and she finally, like her brother always did, unconditionally accepts my love.

Happy Mother’s Day.