letters to grieving on mother's day
Mother’s Day has always been hard for me, whether I was talking to my mother or not. I hated seeing the cards at the grocery stores about moms being someone’s best friend. My mom was never my best friend (although maybe she was my frenemy at times?). When I would buy her a card, I would look for the ones that were nice, but didn’t have overt lies on them, and then I would settle for a lie, just to get out of there.
Last year, we were no contact, and I remember it was either the week before or after Mother’s Day that I had a mental breakdown while in the bath, and I flung myself out of the water and staggered out to the hallway, where I threw myself on the rug. I called my best friend and told her, through gasping breaths, about how horrible a person I was.
I remember going to the car and crying, saying I was going to take a phone call because the Mother’s Day celebration was just so painful, even though I genuinely loved all the mothers there. That’s something that feels hard to describe — how I can love all of my adopted mothers that have been placed in my life (and I have had a lot, which is such a blessing), and it will still never quite fill the hole that my mother’s absence created. Ever since I was a little girl, I have had second moms. I don’t know if it’s because the Universe or the Goddess knew I would need that, or if these moms noticed something was off, or if I was just super lucky (maybe a mix), but I have had an almost back-to-back supply of second moms. Sometimes more than one at once. My kindergarten best friend’s mom, my two elementary school best friends’ moms (they both showed up at my mom’s funeral, and one of them even helped me pack her house), my middle school best friend’s mom, my high school cheerleading coach, my college roommate’s mom, my boss in college, my best friend’s mom in my early twenties, and, of course, my husband’s mom, who has been my favorite adopted mom (and bound by law to be my new mom, so maybe she’s the most legally legit adopted mom).
These adopted moms fill the lack in the sense that they provide warmth, love, safety, tenderness, kindness, and wisdom. Heck, my mother-in-law took me to the hospital for me to get surgery, and the first conscious words out of my mouth when I woke up were, “Where’s my mom?” and I meant her.
And still, there has been, and maybe always will be, that space that feels haunted in me. The space that wishes my birth mother could be that for me. The space that yearns for these gifted mothers in my life to be joyful additions to the relationship with my mother that I already have.
Reddit Thread: What do people do for Mother's Day when their mum has passed?
Answers:
You can do whatever you want.
Just do what works for you. Something, nothing, it’s your choice. Doesn’t even have to be on the day either, just do what and when works for you.
You do whatever helps you feel better.
Just be nice to yourself. You could watch her favourite film? I think the first one of everything is the worst. My mum’s birthday hits me hardest so I go out for lunch on my own to a place she and I used to go and I leave a ridiculously big tip and then get my hair cut.
At this point it’s honestly about what makes you feel better.
And no part of how you feel or how you choose to deal with this is silly! Anything that makes you feel closer to her is nice to do, buy her some flowers, visit a place she liked etc. I hope it brings you some comfort. (It's also okay to pretend mothers day isn't happening!) Whatever is right for you is right.
Something I did not expect was the change in my grief. I no longer feel angry with my mother, even though I, of course, have lots to feel angry about. I think about her often, and I don’t feel viscerally uncomfortable anymore when I do. I don’t think of her abuse, in fact, I think of her… fondly?
I often feel as though I have not earned the right to feel sad about my mother being gone. We were no contact when she died, after all. Feeling sad should be reserved for daughters who were close to their mothers, right?
“My mom would have liked this,” is what I hear myself think, several times a week. I’ve been going to the Unitarian church, and every Sunday I think, “My mom would have liked it here.” I see turquoise jewelry and think, “My mom would have thought that was pretty.” A family friend dressed in a silly costume at the airport to greet the people arriving, and I thought, “That’s something my mom would have gotten a kick out of.” I see roadrunners and think of my mother’s photography.
I think of her every time I use my camera. I think of her every time I hear someone order a mocha. I unfortunately think of her every time I see white wine.
I thought of her when the Pope died, and thought that I was glad she didn’t have to see Trump get re-elected. I think of her when I read a book I know she’d like.
So this year, I’m vowing to do Mother’s Day differently. I’m going to go out and have the day I’d want to have with my mom if she were still alive. I’m going to drink tea with too much sugar, listen to Car Talk in the kitchen, and go to Bloomingdales to spend too much money on La Mer face cream. I’m going to get a pedicure, splurge for the 10 minute foot massage, and not feel guilty that someone has to touch my leg stubble. I am going to spoil my daughters and buy myself a bouquet of flowers and shower myself with the love I’d give to her, if only she were here.
Mother’s Day doesn’t have to be just about the living. And it doesn’t have to be about the dead, either. It can be about honoring YOU, because you are one of the best things she ever did (and if for some reason she never told you that, I am telling you so). You deserve to have a goddamned great day whether she’s here or not, whether you are a mom or not.
And I see her in me, too. In parts I’m not ashamed of. I see her in the stack of books on my nightstand (although this is a bittersweet feeling because it reminds me of cleaning out her house). I see her whenever I say, “Ugh, there are just so many books I want to read.”
I thought of her when I was watching a show where the main character scattered her father’s ashes, and I cried because I couldn’t even look at the urn at the funeral house. I asked them to put it in the other room while I did the paperwork, and had the urn shipped to my grandfather. I cried because my mother always wanted to go whale watching and swim with dolphins, and wouldn’t it have been cool to scatter her ashes with the whales?
Which is why… I have no idea how Mother’s Day is going to impact me this year. I know that Christmas and New Year’s were WAY harder than I ever expected. I know Mother’s Day has never been easy. I know I think about my mother every day, and at least every other day, I cry.
“Mother's Day without a mom brings up emotions that are at once simple yet also as complex and layered as the mother-daughter relationship itself—and they can shift from year to year. You may be able to anticipate the holiday, but you can never be sure how you'll react.”
— How One Article Changed My Perspective on Mother’s Day Without My Mom By Abby Gardner
Mother’s Day plan (for me):
I decided to skip my husband’s family’s Mother’s Day brunch. Not because I don’t want to celebrate, but because I want to be able to ugly cry without the guilt of ruining their celebration. We decided to do a special, round two mother’s day the following weekend — which works out for everyone, because who doesn’t love to be celebrated twice?!
Treat myself to food that she liked. I will order takeout or delivery, most likely. I will definitely drink her favorite coffee — a mocha.
I have her camera, and I haven’t gone through it yet. I was thinking that I would download her photos and make a collage.
If I’m up for it, I’ll go to the river by my house and take a walk, maybe even taking photos myself.
I will make another altar for her.
Engage with her interests. She really liked Post Malone, and I have a habit of (sadly, because I also love him) skipping his songs when they come on — especially the new album, because it reminds me that she never heard it (which is probably fine, neither of us really liked country). She also loved Joan of Arc, Schitt’s Creek, Queer Eye, and Buddy the Elf… though I don’t think I’ll be watching Elf on Mothers’ Day.
And probably… just cry.
For me, each Mother’s Day season brings up varying degrees of grief and nostalgia. Each Mother’s Day, I am reminded that I don’t have a mother, and with that realization I find gritty bits of grief mixed with a flood of memories and emotions that I’m not sure I want to revisit. For those of us who are motherless daughters, you may recognize this experience as a slice of your life too. Some of us don’t know what to do with ourselves on Mother’s Day. We see our friends and strangers going through the rituals of buying gifts for their mothers, making reservations for brunch or dinner. We hear our friends lamenting how their relationship with their mother is complicated or they express gratitude that they have a close and loving relationship, and how they don’t know what they would do without her. … The grief from losing your mom is unique. The umbilical cord that we once shared with our biological mothers gave us more than nutrients, it also connected us to her heartbeat, her life’s blood, the marrow from her bones. She provides life from the moment of conception. Mothers who foster, adopt or otherwise care for children pour into them as well from their inner resources. …
Ultimately, how we as motherless daughters navigate the Mother’s Day season is as individual as we each are, but my experience says that we can transform our grief into an empowering way of being. I offer these suggestions for the season:
Recall and celebrate her traits that give you strength, courage, determination and compassion.
Continue learning from her life experiences—Gather stories about who she was as a girl. How did she navigate early obstacles? Where are the similarities you share with her?
What can you do in her honor? Do it on Mother’s Day.
Create a home altar and place some of her favorite things there with a candle, glass of water and a picture. Recall fond memories there.
— Mothers’ Day grief: What this day means when you’ve lost your own mom by Darnise C. Martin
Official Obituary of Annamarie Nagel
December 19, 1959
Annamarie Nagel passed away peacefully this month in Gila, New Mexico.
Born on December 19, 1959, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Annamarie had a profound appreciation for the beauty of life, which she captured through her love of photography. She was passionate about animals and found joy in the serenity of nature. Annamarie is survived by her daughter, Samantha Nagel, and her father, Thomas O'Brien. She was preceded in death by her mother, Jaqueline Fahey.
For all those who would like to attend a celebration of her life, a service will be held at the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at 420 NM-211, Gila, NM 88038, at 10:00am on Saturday, June 15, 2024.
In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations be made to the El Refugio Women's Shelter at www.eridv.org/how-to-help, a cause close to Annamarie's heart.
thank you for sharing your experience and shedding the light on how difficult this day can be!