Sarah O'Connor

I don’t have a lot to say, because this whole post is pointless. I’m just stating the obvious, what people already know.

Mother’s Day sucks when you don’t have a mom.

My first Mother’s Day without my mom was spent in Disney World, which was a nice distraction. It was my sister and I’s first time there and we had planned the trip with a friend many months before my mom died, when she was excited to see us saving up for it. When she died, we considered cancelling or postponing it to another year, but our dad said that our mom wouldn’t want us to cancel or move the trip. So we booked it for what we would later realize was Mother’s Day weekend.

And honestly, Mother’s Day in Disney World didn’t really bother me. Like I said, it was a nice distraction from what we would usually be celebrating with our mom. I suppose if you were a mom or were with your mom specifically for Mother’s Day you would notice certain events and things planned, but I didn’t notice any of them. I went on rides, met a few princesses, and soaked up the sun and treated it like any other normal day (well, any other normal day in Disney). It wasn’t until night, when the hotel television kept re-running episodes of Say Yes to the Dress, where one episode focused on a bride with cancer, where the credits mentioned that she died, that I was triggered*.

My mom will never be at my wedding. She will never see me try on wedding dresses. She will never meet whoever I end up marrying. There will probably be some other woman there, and that’s still hard for me to accept.

I can’t remember my second Mother’s Day without her. I wasn’t in Disney, so I didn’t have any distractions. I tried to of course, but as I scrolled through Facebook and Instagram I just saw my friends talking about their mom’s, how happy they were to have them, saying how much they loved them. They deserve to of course, I would never stop someone from announcing their love for their mom over my not being able too, but it was hard to read. It’s still hard to read, because I’d like to say so many things about my mom but I know it will just be a downer for everyone else.

I wasn’t as bothered by the ad’s for Mother’s Day gifts this year as I usually am, though when I went into LUSH the past week and the sales representative started telling me that this was the last week to get Mother’s Day soaps I almost wanted her to push me about why I wasn’t interested. I just wanted a little bit of conflict, an employee having a bad day so I could shut them up and tell them my mom is dead and I don’t care about whatever stupid soap they’re trying to sell. Unfortunately for me, every LUSH employee I’ve ever met is incredibly sweet and not pushy, so when I said I wasn’t interested she accepted and went on to another customer who might be. And please don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t mad at her. I know she had a script to say, and I know that she had to let customers know this was the last week of sales and special Mother’s Day soaps, but I just didn’t want to be reminded about what was coming up. I just wanted to treat it like a normal day, because any holiday is a normal day if you ignore it.

But Mother’s Day will never be a normal day, it will always be a day I try and fail to avoid, a day I get through until the clock strikes midnight and I wait for next year.

This year was harder for some reason. Maybe it’s because grief is unpredictable and comes in waves and I had just gotten sucked into a bad one, maybe it’s because one of my friends recently lost her mom and this was her first Mother’s Day without her and I was rehashing all the firsts in my head that I’d already gone through, or maybe I just really missed my mom. Grief is a strange and complicated thing.

But every year my friends remember how hard this day is and they message my sister and I about it. They keep us in our hearts and by doing that they keep a part of my mom alive, and I can never stop being grateful for that.

This year, my dad heard one of his and my mom’s wedding songs on the radio, one of the songs I always associate with her. He said it made him sad, upset him so much in the car, but I told him that whenever I hear a song that makes me think of mom I think of it as her talking to us. She’s saying she’s here, that she’s thinking of us, that she loves us, and it gives me comfort. Every time I hear one of those songs on the radio it’s been a time when I needed her, and maybe I’m just being dumb or superstitious, but they’re important to me. My dad said he needs to start looking at the songs that way too.

So here’s to you mom, another Mother’s Day without you and sadly a lifetime more to come. I miss your smile, I miss your laugh, I miss how you could always make me calm when I was upset. I miss the treats and meals you used to make that I’ll never be able to recreate, the stories you used to tell, the light and happiness you brought into everyone’s life. I miss your bravery, I miss your optimism, I miss your strength and hugs and you, just you.

I miss what life was like with you in it, because it’s a lot harder without you.

*I have issues using the word triggered when talking about myself. I know what the word means and what association it has, but I always feel I am undeserving of it, like what I’m feeling isn’t exactly what the word means. I still don’t know if I’m right, but I do know that I panicked watching that show and needed to force myself to calm down, so I think I used it right.

(Note: This post is based on my own personal experience with having lost my mom and dealing with Mother’s Day because of that.)

(Image is my own.)