Special day? Mother's Day? Mother every day even when my Girl isn't here. Felt her first flicker in me around July 1994, those little fetus feet slamming against the walls of me. So grateful to have her.
As a daughter, well, I'm not one any more, though you could argue that I suppose. Once born to someone, whether they live or die, you're still theirs, right?
Nope. That's not the way it feels. Gone is gone.
I feel my mother constantly and recognize her in my reactions to the world, see her in the mirror, hear her when I laugh or my daughter laughs. So. I'll argue with myself about this motherless mongrel business. I am a daughter, I had a mother, she is gone, I'm not a daughter, I am, I'm not, I am, I'm not.
Both true. Both lies.
Words are lying assholes.
Everything is making me cry today. A post on Facebook by my daughter's best friend still has me crying. Her mother died when she was 13. She's now nearly 17. She's a beautiful girl, so articulate, so aware of what she had while she had it, what she doesn't have now that her mother is gone.
My own daughter treated me to surprises last night: a batch of what she called chocolate muffins (really just cupcakes without the frosting because she knows I don't like frosting) that she baked at a friend's house, a bouquet of fake flowers (fake because she knows our cat eats real ones), a bag of Ghirardelli's Dark Cocoa squares. Little things that mean something to me, proof that she knows me and sees me even when she's rushing out the door to live her lovely life.
We will invade her father's house later this afternoon. I'm bringing my own pasta sauce; he's supplying rolls, salad, maybe some wine. "We'll have family time," my daughter says. And even though we're a weird family, two separate houses, connected mostly by our past and this child of ours, we are a family.
So. I feel great joy today because I have my beautiful daughter in my life, but I also feel great sorrow for all my motherless friends or friends who are not mothers and are sad about it, and because I miss my own mother fiercely even after 18 1/2 years.
This is the way my life wants to be. Joy and sorrow sitting next to each other, touching, noise and color turning to some kind of funny, sad song.