I Hate Mother's Day

I feel guilty about it because I know how many people enjoy it. And I do realize that not all mothers were like mine; actually, the overwhelming majority of mothers were, thank God, nothing like mine. I am glad that so many people have good, or at least somewhat good, memories of their mothers, and that so many women enjoy, or at least mostly enjoy motherhood.

But I have had no children. And I barely had a mother. I am alone on this day in every sense.

I am staying home and planning to call a close friend who had a son who died at age 26 and a daughter who is estranged from her for reasons entirely not her fault.

We are the forgotten ones on Mothers Day.

I forced myself to go to church the previous two Mothers Days, thinking it might help. It didn't. At the door, they ask you, Are you a mother? I said I wasn't. They were handing out flowers to mothers. The lady with the flowers handed me one anyway and said that I could honor my own mother. Now I was really depressed! I sat and listened to a sermon about how wonderful mothers are and how grateful we should be. By the time I left, I felt like I'd survived an ordeal. On the way home, I passed cars full of smiling families heading toward restaurants.

So this time I will stay home. I am glad I have my refuge of a rented room with a beautiful view.