mother's day project 2009

canon digital rebel xsi

It is hard to explain - what I refer to as the Mother's Day Project. It literally started with needing something to do with my rage and pity that seemed to seep out on Mother's Day, after my mother was gone.

It is hard to explain how it feels to be bombarded by ads in email, on television, the radio, the Internet, the highway, etc. about a day that no longer seems relevant to you. Part of me wanted to scream, while another part wanted to lock myself away until it was over. It was really weird too, since I didn't have such powerful emotions around father's day, but maybe that has more to say about how society feels about fathers.

At any rate, the hiding and the screaming ideas just weren't working. So I decided to divert my energy. The first year, I sent 3 or 4 cards to my friends who were moms. It gave me something to focus on. I bought the cards.

The next year I did the same, adding a few more moms to the list. Again, I didn't make the cards. At some point, I figured it would be very expensive to send store bought cards to everyone that I wanted to, and I also wanted to make it more personal. And so the idea of sending postcards came about, using my own photographs.

There was a year I didn't do it. And then the next year, the list of recipients grew. Now the list is just shy of one hundred. They go all over the world. I think that is the most amazing thing.

Despite thinking about this year's project 35 days ago, I sent them all out on Friday at 5pm. Most won't arrive on Mother's Day, but that's okay. I do my best. That's all I can do.

To some, I am sure it seems silly. Why go to the trouble and the expense? It keeps me off the streets and out of trouble. But it is also a way to honor my Mother, and the mothers I know. I may not be a mother, but I get the importance of the job. I get that all mothers need support. That's what the day is about after all.


on the night stand :: The Mercy Papers: A Memoir of Three Weeks by Robin Romm.

the words are the same

canon digital rebel xsi

Since writing this I learned that Mother's Day was not the creation of the evil geniuses at Hallmark. It was created by Anna Jarvis of West Virginia in 1907. She started the tradition of wearing carnations: pink if your mother is alive; white is your mother is deceased.

originally posted on May 11, 2003

sometimes a lie is the best thing

This is a simple truth: the only way onto this planet (sans spacecraft) is via a mother. Sure, modern science has blurred a few lines about who exactly a mother is, although surrogacy has been around since biblical times. But even with test tubes and Petri dishes, it all boils down to the same thing. The largest cell joins the smallest cell, and creation takes place.

So a mother could be considered a vessel, a ship. A storage space that leads you to a passageway – a point of entrance into this world. Thus a connection/bond like no other is formed. We lived inside of this being. We were literally nurtured by her body. Fed by what she took in, good or bad. Her body offered shelter and protection. And then when certain conditions came together, we emerged, and were literally cut from that which created us. And that is why we cry.

No matter what happened after that, we still share that connection. We will have it with no one else. It is a one-time deal. No one comes into this world alone. There will only ever be one person who got us here. Like it or not, those are the facts.

Today I read an entry about the kinds of mothers that there are. The author mentioned mothers no longer with us, those with children who are no longer of this earth, mothers who no longer have custody of their children (because of court orders, adoption, or otherwise), and mothers who are estranged from their offspring, or at least in complicated relationships. I would like to add to that list mothers who felt that the best decision for them both was to not take things to term. They are all mothers, and should be honored on this day.

Today being that day brought to us by Hallmark, and sponsored by 1-800-flowers.com, South Western Bell, and Avon, I, of course, thought about my own mother. Mother’s Day 1999 was the last time I sent her a card. Had I known then that it would be the last, I’m still not sure what I would have said. I know on some deep level that she loved me, and that she knew I loved her. That my leaving was the best thing for me, and in some ways her, too. That she never wanted me to take on the role of mother to her, and yet it happened.

What haunts me still is something I found among her things. A note about how she wished she had sent me (in addition to my sister) back to live with our paternal grandmother. Also that she had never had the abortion that she did. The one that I am still not sure if she knew I knew about. [I was about 10.] These were her two greatest regrets.

The irony of that is not lost on me. She didn’t want to deal with the children she did have, but yet regretted not bringing another into this world. Okay, I suppose it was more that she was not pregnant to begin with. And yes, I realize that she was quite sick when she wrote this. That her brain was literally rotting away. That she didn’t mean it.

But still it hurts. I can’t tell you that it doesn’t or that it shouldn’t. I just wish it didn’t.

This is the first m-day since then that I ventured out. To observe the world as it celebrated. I watched as a son helped his mother into Starbucks so that she could use the gift card that someone had given her on Mother’s Day. She had one of those new fangled walkers.

Meanwhile, at the table next to me, I listened, as the mother of three was chided by her teenage daughter for almost sitting in her space. Each had several shopping bags. I’d almost bet that none of it was for mom.

Across from me sat a woman on her cell phone. Alone. She kept looking over at me. I think we were both trying to figure out why we didn’t have a mom or children with us. I think she was gay; I think she thought I might have been.

I watched a son with his little boy and his grandma played outside. The grandmother seemed thrilled to get this opportunity to play with her son’s son. She was all dressed up. The little boy was beaming at all the attention being showered upon him.

I sat sipping my iced tea and observed. I wanted to tell them, warn them really, that life is short. To cherish these moments as they could be the last. But I know that no one listens. I didn’t. Why would I expect anyone else to hear the simple truth?

Eventually I couldn’t take any more. I could feel the tears welling in my eyes. So I headed back home to hide, wishing this day would be over. That the flowers and cards and displays would just go away. Some days are just too hard to celebrate.

There are some days that I wish I
could put your hand in mine and I
could let you feel, truly feel, the
experience of this loss. This grief, that
I am told will dissipate over time but
will never, ever go away

A single thought, and it all comes flooding back
remembering that that was when I last used a pay phone, for example
or even the taste of a particular cookie
the smell of someone wearing a particular perfume
total recall


on the night stand :: Motherless Daughters

35 days until mother's day

canon digital rebel xsi

I realize I probably should finish start my wedding announcements, but am already thinking about my annual Mother's Day Project. Of course, if you don't know, my Mother has been dead for nearly a decade, and I am not a mother myself. So why would I bother with a Mother's Day Project?

Several years back, I was completely overwhelmed by Mother's Day. I had decided I would just stay inside all day, and try to ignore it, but it didn't work. So I did something about it. The first year I sent cards to a couple of my friends who had recently had babies, and one to a friend that was a nun, and a bit like a grandmother to me. She was the first person I called after learning about my mother.

The next year, I did the same thing again, but added a few more people to the list. I was buying cards back then. Then I got the bright idea of putting my photography to work. I found these cool postcard papers that let you easily adhere a photo. The list kept growing. I think last year I came close to 100 cards sent. They went all over the world.

So the question becomes do I grow the project? Thanks to Twitter, I know a lot more moms. Or do I do something different? Would love feedback.


on the night stand :: The Little Giant of Aberdeen County by Tiffany Baker


Share