A Happy Mother's Day

For many years, Mother's Day was wonderful, filled with brunches with three generations, my grandmother (Bubby), my mom, and me. There were cards exchanged, gifts given and received (perfume and earrings were big favorites). Most likely we'd spend the afternoon going to a movie or shopping.

And then there were two. My grandmother died in 1987. Then it was just my mom and me. When I got older I took her out to brunch. I still gave her earrings or perfume, sometimes both.

Unfortunately it's that last Mother's Day in 2000 that I remember most clearly. I still recall standing in a busy card store on an unseasonably hot May day on the Upper West Side of New York City. I stood frozen in front of the card racks, terrified. I had to find the perfect card for my mom, the one that said it all. I knew in my heart of hearts that this was going to be our last Mother's Day.

For years after that, Mother's Day was terrible. Erin and I would go out to brunch (she would sweetly always try to not work that day, knowing I hated spending it alone). But brunch out was painful, almost masochistic because who goes to brunch on Mother's Day? Mothers! And I didn't have one anymore.

And so some years I would hide. I would have a glass of pity wine in the early afternoon, and mope.

Then came the first year I got a Mother's Day card. It was May of 2003 and I was pregnant. But I knew in my heart of hearts that I was miscarrying (the "numbers" weren't doubling as they were supposed to, so said the bloodwork I'd gotten back on Friday). Still, Erin optimistically gave me a Mother's Day card. It was bittersweet--we both knew (hoped) that even if that pregnancy didn't work out there would be another. And there was, six months later I got pregnant with Leo.

May of 2005. My first Mother's Day as a mother.

The sadness magically lifted, not completely, but more than I ever thought it could have. I still missed (still miss) my mom, truly and deeply and every damn day.

But now I am a mother. And it's not just that I'm too busy to be sad, it's something bigger than that. It's something I can't quite put my finger on, but there you go. Maybe it is all the other mothers that I know now. There is the caregiver at Leo's school, old enough to be my mom, who kisses me on the cheek and hugs me and wishes me a happy Mother's Day. There are the clerks at the grocery store, who say it too, and I find it touching. Does that make me desperate or a sap? Who knows.

I still miss someone being my mom, having that maternal figure to check in with, that touchstone. But somehow becoming a mother myself has completed some kind of necessary circle that has erased at least some of the sadness. It's filled some of the hole, though it will never be completely filled again. Of course it's also a little bittersweet, having these two wonderful little people running around and no Mom or Bubby here to take in all the miniature deliciousness.

I still miss those brunches with Bubby and Mom, some 22 years ago (god I'm old!). It's like they were in another lifetime, and in a way, they were.

Today was not very Mother's Day like. Erin had to work, so the kids and went shopping at Costco, then came home and ate popsicles in the backyard. It was a beautiful day, breezy, crisp and clear, almost autumnal. Ellie is taking a marathon nap right now (which is the only reason I am even able to sneak this post in) and for the moment, Leo is playing semi-quietly. That is what I call the ultimate Mother's Day present.

There was no brunch (unless you count yogurt and strawberries with a toddler at 6:30 a.m., not quite my idea of brunch). In true Murphy's Law fashion, Leo slept in so Ellie naturally decided to get up early (what is it with those two?).

Bubby and my mom would have loved to have been here, I think. After all, they both liked to wake up early. And we all know they loved to shop.