So there’s that.
I don’t know what I’m going to say in this post. The title gives away the punchline—the cosmic joke, which is also my truth. I’m typing because I don’t know what else to do. Don’t expect anything profound or hopeful. Bitterness has won out this year.
This Mother’s Day is also the 11th anniversary of my mom’s death. In 2008, a day before I was scheduled to be induced for the birth of my first daughter—the morning after Mother’s Day that year—I found my mom dead from sudden cardiac arrest.
I heard her body hit the floor.
That sound is as familiar to me now as my own heartbeat.
She wore a floral nightgown and was wedged between the couch and the coffee table.
I called my doctor’s office to cancel my inducement. I’m the only living child in my family, and my father was in no state to tend to all that one must do when a family member dies, so my own date with motherhood had to wait.
I chose my mother’s casket and clothes. I wrote her eulogy. I did her makeup. I read a poem during the service. These were my Mother’s Day gifts to her.
What she had asked for was a leaf blower.
I was in labor at my mother’s funeral. My mother’s first granddaughter was born the morning after.
My mom didn’t meet her.
My mom didn’t meet her sister either.
I was in labor at my mother’s funeral.
All I have known is being a mom without a mom.
Today, I’m surely reminded.