La Paloma

My stepsister took my mother out for Mothers Day brunch yesterday.

Which fills my heart in a way I can’t describe. Though, here I am, a writer — so I have to try.

I have conflicted feelings about Mothers Day, as I wrote about the other day. Part of that comes from my relationship with my stepchidren. It’s never easy, piecing together families.

For us, for me and Hope and Davey, it’s different. We never had to share a household. My mother married Hope and Davey’s father two years ago this Tuesday. I’m an only child who lost her father young and her stepfather a few years ago. Hope lost her mother a few years ago also, far too young, to cancer. I can’t imagine what that would be like.

It’s always meant a great deal to me, that Hope has been so kind to my mother. Not all daughters would be so accepting of their father’s second wife. Not all would embrace their father finding a new life and new happiness. But Hope has a kind and generous spirit.

And she took my mother out for brunch, down in Tucson. To a lovely restaurant on a patio at a resort overlooking a pool — a perfect spot to please my mom.

When I was a little girl, I used to fantasize about my little sister, Sally. She had blond ringlets and followed me everywhere. Okay, I had a lot of imaginary friends, including Casper the Ghost and Wendy the Witch. Most of the time, I didn’t mind not having siblings. It seemed like they mostly fought with each other. But there was something there. Maybe because I knew my mom had wanted more children. My father died before he could give her more. If not for the tragic accident of his death, I might have been the eldest, not the only.

Loving my mom has never been difficult. She’s low maintenance on the mother-scale. She also has a habit of giving back far more than she receives. But it’s wonderful for me that my mom has another daughter now, to appreciate her.

Thank you, Hope.

Are You My Checker?

Yesterday, the checker at the grocery store greeted us with a chirpy, “Happy Mothers Day!”

I didn’t say anything.

Believe me, this is better than saying what I wanted to say. I have a bit of a reputation as having a smart mouth. My only defense is that people have no idea how much discretion I really exercise. So many things I never say out loud.

I wanted to tell her, “I’m not a mother.”

Which isn’t precisely true. I’m a stepmother. Kind of an after-the-fact one, since David and I aren’t legally or religiously married. But I’ve been part of my stepchildrens’ lives for 18 years, so I count it. They don’t count it and don’t acknowledge me on Mothers Day. There are a lot of reasons for that, most of them having to do with loyalty to their mother. I understand those reasons and don’t blame them. But yeah, I have a few issues with the day.

For the most part, I don’t mind. It means a great deal to me to celebrate my own mother. I wrote her my own little ode yesterday. But when the Safeway chick greets me with something like that, I shudder at the presumption and carelessness.

The decision to be a mother or not is a fraught thing. Some women are mothers without wanting to be. Some want to be and can’t. Some have children who die tragic deaths. Some women choose not to have children. It’s intensely personal, regardless of which category you fall into.

Even going the other direction, celebrating your own mother can be an emotional minefield. I have a friend whose mother died, much too young from cancer, a few years ago. Her mother died only a week before Mothers Day. She still grieves.

Yes, the checker was only trying to be chirpy and friendly. Which is why I didn’t snap at her. I couldn’t quite dredge up the smile and happy “thank you” she was looking for, but I did the best I could.

I think all of us are doing the best we can. It’s important to remember that a greeting card holiday does not make this a greeting card world. Sometimes instead of a sweet poem inside, there might be a well of pain. Perhaps it’s best not to assume.