Yesterday was Mother's Day.
I am not big on Mother's Day, perhaps that is because I have a daughter who makes me feel special on the regular, no tangible gifts required, just our happiness when we're together. Albeit Mother's Day was cute when she was little with her handmade cards and sloppy breakfasts but that's where I think Mother's Day belongs: with those whose children are small and not filled with the idea/burden of obligation.
Basically, once Hallmark comes into the picture I lose interest.
Yet as yesterday approached I did note - poignantly - that it would be the first Mother's Day in which I did not have a mother. Two and a half months have passed since she died, so there is still that sting, although my grief is of the complicated variety. Mother's Day mattered very much to my mother which was just one of our very many differences and, like all other holiday type days, when it came to her I approached all of them with a particular dread - the kind that comes from having to do something not with a spirit of fun and excitement, but with the weight of obligation.
As with every other event, off I would go to try and figure out what I could possibly buy for her that she would appreciate or even like. She was a woman with no interests and I do mean that literally. My mother did not like music or books, she had no hobbies and no interest in current events, didn't like going out to eat (or anywhere else), and since she never left her apartment there was no sense in new clothes or pretty jewelry. Her existence was cigarette smoking, coffee, playing computer solitaire and watching the same movies dozens of times. That is the complete list.
Try shopping for someone like that.
