Mother's Day, as it exists now, in this country, is a commercial success for Hallmark. It wasn't always that way.
During the 1600's, the early Christians in England celebrated a day to
honor Mary, the mother of Christ. By a religious order the holiday was
later expanded in its scope to include all mothers, and named as the
Mothering Sunday. Celebrated on the 4th Sunday of Lent (the 40 day
period leading up to Easter), "Mothering Day" was celebrated honoring all mothers of England. Since many of England's poor worked as servants for the
wealthy, jobs were located far from their homes and the servants
would live at the houses of their employers. On Mothering Sunday, the
servants would have the day off and were encouraged to return home and
spend the day with their mothers.
In 1914, President Woodrow adopted a resolution that the second Sunday in May was to be set aside to honor mother's. It took less then nine years for Americans to commercialize Mother's Day.
In our family, Mother's Day always involves a mix of emotions. The little ones plan and plot surprises. I still struggle with the loss of my mom, even though four years have gone by. The Dad's Mom has Alzheimer's and doesn't remember anything. GB has been angry at her Birth Mother for several years now and does not, even in her own mind, consider BM as Mom. Hope gets angry, I think, because in her mind, she doesn't have a mom. MK is proud to be a mom, but has never resolved her feelings about her birth mother, prenatal alcohol damage, and being given up. I am her Mom, but in her mind, the worst mom in the world. J always finds Mother's Day a source of guilt- for expectations he had for himself and didn't meet.
With all these emotions swirling around, Mother's Day is tiring, sometime exhausting. I try to take several minutes to myself to be grateful for the mother I had for 50 years, for the birth mothers of my children who chose life when they didn't have to, for the children God gave me to love and end with a prayer that my children will find peace with who they are. Then I join in whatever celebration my children decide they want this year. And maybe, we get a little closer to acceptance.
This is where I am with Hope- parental ambivalence. I feel pulled in so many directions that I think even Gumby would break instead of stretching. There has been so much progress made. The constant, raw terror is gone. Hope has words that she can and sometimes does use to make her needs known. Dinner is not a battle every night. She is sleeping most nights and managing most school days without any psychotropic medication.
And yet... I live in a battle field. Hope lives for the fight. If I won't engage, GB will. GB isn't capable, at this point, of recognizing what problems belong to Hope and leaving them with Hope. Hope misses no opportunity to poke. Her bad feelings are like an oil spill- when she can't contain them, they cover everybody around her and are extraordinarily difficult to clean up. You can never completely undo them.
I am committed to this child. I have break through moments when I feel real love for her. They are fleeting and then the battle field is back. She is still hitting, kicking, and throwing things at me. She is screaming no before I finish my request. She spends all most of her waking hours trying to play The Dad against me.
Hope will be moving into the little room as soon as I find somebody to redo D's room, which is where the office will go. That will give her a place to rage where the only things she can destroy belong to her and it can be made safe enough that a monitor can replace us. GB will get her own space back and her possessions will once again be safe.
Ambivalence... my mom used to say "damned if you do, damned if you don't". Maybe that was just another way of saying the same thing.
