Sometimes I struggle. Some days more than others.
But every year, like clockwork, the worst month for me is probably May. May is for celebrating women who absolutely deserve it. The strongest ones, the hardest workers, the most caring: Moms. Mother’s Day.
And every year, like clockwork, there are hundreds – if not thousands – of ads for it.
Ads for sales. Ads suggesting what to get your mama.
Ads reminding many of us… How much we miss ours. How much we wish we could celebrate it ourselves.
In fact, if there was a way to do a bulk unsubscribe to emails and ads mentioning Mother’s Day, I bet you there would be a lot of takers.
Not because we don’t want to celebrate it. But because… we really miss our reason to and/or wish we had a reason to. I think I can speak for the batch of us that are in this arena; this isn’t a bitterness we want to have.
My mom passed away when I was 12. It was a lifetime ago, and thousands of memories ago, and you would think… this would go away. But every year, this month, I am acutely aware.
I wonder what we would’ve done if she was here. I wonder where she would’ve wanted to eat. I wonder what I would’ve bought her. I wonder what advice she’d have for me.
I wonder if I could have one of her hugs. Because sometimes I can’t remember her exact voice, and sometimes I can’t remember her precise laugh; but I will always remember the feel of her hugs.
I remember her kindness. I remember how she’d lean back in her royal blue desk chair while she was on the phone, a smile on her face. I remember watching her pull a homeless man out of a dumpster so she could give him food. I remember the countless thousands of dollars she lost in her job as an attorney, because she believed in families and did lots of pro bono work for her clients.
I remember her love for Jesus, and how important it was to her that I knew He would never leave me.
I remember her reading a book about pirates to me in the back of my grandparents RV as we were driving home from the Keys when I was really little. I think this is why I’m borderline obsessed with pirate history.
I remember her love for adventure. Pulling me out of school so we could go on cruises or road trips. She loved a good resort and a staycation. She loved adventure.
I’ve fought with myself over it as an adult. Because I want to plan and I want to go, but I feel guilty because…adulting.
But this is something my Poppie (my mom’s dad, a master of the sea, the air, and adventurer), instilled in her. And I like to think I inherited it from both of them. We need to go to breathe.
So on Sunday, on Mother’s Day, I threw things in a suitcase, got in my car, and drove. I drove south. As far south as I could possibly drive until I got tired (Key Largo), then a couple of days later, I drove as far south as I could until I was closer to Cuba than the mainland of the United States.
I prayed. I listened to fun music, to sad music, to reggae music. I wrote. I missed her. I cried. I tried to remember things, but also kept myself busy so I wasn’t stuck in my grief. I went to museums and learned about pirates. I discovered that chocolate covered key lime pie on a stick from Kermit’s is really the only way to eat the dessert of Florida from here on out (I still love you, Publix).
I swam in the sea. I dealt with a really mean lady that had me questioning life and met the nicest people who reassured me that the majority of people are great.
It was an experience.
It was something my mama would’ve loved. And Poppie, for that matter.
And my last day there, I found a contentment. A peace. Because I knew that aside from my struggles, my fears, my sadness and my mistakes – Jesus was with me. He showed me grace. He showed me beautiful days and beautiful sunsets and the kindness of others. And that I don’t have to be in control.
That even though I really miss having my mom here, my grandparents here, that I’m still a daughter. And I have a Father in Heaven who has never left me and never will.
He showed me it’s ok to grieve this. It’s ok to sit in the hurt, and move how I need to and go wherever the road (Jesus) might lead… Because maybe by living, and soul-searching, and going on random adventures is how I can remember my mom, my whole family best. They weren’t scared of living and living life to the fullest.
And hopefully, one day, I will get to teach my daughter(s) to do the same.
wanderandtheway.com 