To be Without a Mother on Mother’s Day

I hate Mother’s Day. I always have. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that my mother overdosed when I was 4, but more than that I hate the memories of Mother’s Day growing up.

I was raised in a Baptist​ church where each Mother’s Day everyone got a flower pinned to her/his chest; red if your mother was alive, white if she was deceased. I’m not sure if folks really thought through the implications of that approach. Being without a mother is always hard, but being without a mother and then having a marker that denotes you as different is another layer entirely.

I, in my childish defiance, would always “lose” my flower after Sunday School, but everyone already knew. Mother’s Day for me was always laced with sad glances and additional hugs. I’ve always loved hugs, but pity hugs are never pleasant.

As an adult, it’s not much easier or different. Some people have their mother’s, some people don’t. Some of us who don’t have our mothers have warm memories to hold onto, some of us don’t.

I agree that mothers are wonderful and they should be celebrated…I just also kind of wish that there was an alternate planet I could escape to for the day, every year.

*semi long sigh*

-Ms. Malcolm Hughes


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