I’m not a big fan of Mother’s Day. It’s been my goal to avoid it for awhile now. For many years I have taken a weekend trip to get away. It’s the same philosophy I use on my birthdays. If I’m not home, it can’t find me and doesn’t exist. It never happens.
Now it’s even worse. To borrow a biblical term, I’m here without root or branch to celebrate. Oh, how I dread this day. Or, I should say week. That’s how long all the ads run to remind me I need to celebrate my mom. Yes, thank you for the reminder. That’s very diligent of you.
This year, through some kind of fluke, I made commitments that require me to stay home for the weekend. Oh, dang me! So, how should I spend the day?
I’m not going to lie; there is a part of me, a big part, that just wants to spend the day in bed. Not in a self-pity, oh woest me sort of way. But more in a just let the day pass and I could really use the rest anyway. The thought sounds very appealing.
But then there’s that small nagging voice inside of me. The voice that sounds remarkably like my father because this is what he told me, “You need to put your big girl pants on and deal with it.” Okay, he didn’t put it in those words but that was the gist of it. In other words, I can’t let the day beat me. Mother’s Day will happen no matter what, no matter where I am. Don’t let the day beat me. Rise above it. (sigh) It’s not as if I’m the only one in this situation.
As Reba sings, “I guess the world ain’t gonna stop, for my broken heart” (Liz Hengber and Keith Palmer, “For My Broken Heart,” 1991). But is it really wrong for me to stop – just for one day? Anyone else sharing this dilemma?