Have a Happy Whatever Day

If you identify as a mother, then I wish you a happy day. If you don't, then, have a happy one anyway. My blog, my rules.

Motherhood is a weird thing. For some, it's a time of unending joy, for others it's just one goat rodeo after another. For most, whether you're having days of sunshine and rainbows, or chasing after a small naked person, you still love and cherish them.

But there are those who don't have such an easy time. They cannot bond, they cannot love, they cannot cope, they barely manage. They don't understand the fuss and foolery over such a day. Maybe they couldn't connect with their offspring, or there offspring couldn't connect with them. There is no shame on them for how they feel, but there is a little shame on those who make them feel guilty for not living the life of Hallmark bliss.

My mom and I had one of those relationships that I thought was normal when I was a kid. I thought all mothers behaved certain ways, and it wasn't until much later that I learned my dear momma had some issues. I thought it was normal to believe the neighbors were spying on us and that all curtains needed to be closed to keep them from seeing what we were up to. I thought it was normal to go from extreme happiness to rage to despair in one day, or even one hour. I thought all mothers did that, they just hid it from everyone except their family. Mental illness is a trip and a half. When I was an adolescent, it became very hard for the two of us to maintain a civil relationship because I was weary of trying to always stay on the good side of her off days.

There were other things that kept her on the other side of normal, but as I grew older (and, thankfully, wiser) I learned the whys and whats of her illness and I learned to forgive. Her childhood was one of constant uncertainty. For years, the only thing she could count on was school. She was the younger daughter of a single mom. She and my aunt were raised in the middle of the depression in an area of the country that has never had a good economic base, unless you owned a lumber mill or a logging truck.

Our family had neither.

Grandpa did what he could, when he remembered. He and grandma split when my mom was about 2, and he ended up spending a great percentage of his time with his girlfriends and their kids. During extra lean times, he would go out and hunt for game (in season or not) and that's what he would bring to his daughters. But despite being an excellent hunter, he didn't always find the time, or opportunity, to provide for his family. He had other irons in the fire. Mind you, I adored him when I was a kid, but his actions did not have a direct impact on my life, so that luxury of unpolluted love was mine.

She did her best to keep me in touch with my grandparents and cousins, but she had some pretty strong opinions about all of them, and she never failed to share them with me once we had returned home. Years later, she wondered why I didn't maintain a close relationship with them. It was kind of hard to do when you weren't sure it would meet with approval, so I kind of gave up.

Not all of her criticisms were wrong, however. One side of the family made sure to remind her that she was from the wrong side of the tracks and flaunted their lifestyle in such a way as to make her feel even less of a human being than she already did. She tried, but it was a struggle, one that would fire up that mood swing and away we'd go. I no longer have contact with that side of the family, their choice, not mine, but I'm gay and they can't accept that, so there we are, but this isn't about me.

This is about mothers. Mothers who were handled the title in the form of a fussy bundle of wet-and-sticky and told to Go Out and Make a Good Adult, and they did their best. It never measured up to the moms on TV, or in books, or in the homes of friends, and when you're a kid, that's all you see. You don't see the struggle, or if you do, you don't recognize it as struggle, you see it as normal.

This is about mothers. Mothers who were never given the chance to give birth, but desperately wanted to be a mom and mothered someone else's child. A child that they would give much-needed calm attention to, and quickly forgive mistakes that a biological mother is just too tired, or not wired to do.

This is about mothers. Mothers who were without children until they married someone with kids, and had to co-parent with people who may or may not be getting along, who could be using the children as weapons to hurt the other parent, with no regard to the damage happening to their children. This is the land of step-parenting, more minefield than play field. Always watching your step, always trying to protect those who needed it while keeping balance in your own life and marriage.

This is about mothers. Mothers who aren't assigned female by birth, but they transitioned into one and took on the responsibility of being a mother to someone who needed them. They bring a whole new light and love to the child they raise.

This is about mothers. Mothers who aren't assigned female, nor do they wish to be, but they take on the role of caregiver to a child they love. They are both mother and father.

This is about mothers. Mothers caught in the middle of joy and crazy. Mothers who do their best, love their children, and hang on even when it feels like the rope is fraying and the knot is coming undone. This is for you. This is for all of us.

Happy Mother's Day to us all.