So here's the thing, I have always hated mother's day.
As I have previously written my relationship with my mother is non existent.
I always feel down on Mother's Day. Though the person who gave birth to me and I have no bond anymore there is a longing for mothering.
I have the single best Mother in Law on the planet. I love her like my mom. Really this lady is awesome. Both of my In Laws are great. But she's my mate's mom not my own.
But inside I still yearn for my mom. I yearn for her to be like other mom's a little broken but loving. I wish that the trauma of her life had made her strong enough to protect herself.
But sadly those are dreams.
I lost my mom's. My real mom as a child as inner demons devoured our chances of normal life.
My dear, sweet, big, black, queen from Kentucky Momma Té was taken due to illness leaving a void in my soul. He taught me to not be afraid of being touched. Damage my real mother allowed to be created.
And this is the first year my paternal Grandmother isn't here to call as the sadness builds upon my mind as the Hallmark holiday looms closer.
And I get maudlin folks. I can't count the number of years where deep depression and PTSD weren't present.
The year I was pregnant and the the following year were my happiest. The pain of being motherless was dull and background noise.
The year I became pagan I was filled with a sense of love. The Mother Goddess eased the ache inside. But I had my Gram there to listen to my ramblings. (Much like you are now!)
And this year I expected more of the same. Pronounced pain over my dearly missed Gram. She was a constant for me. She raised and protected me but in all honesty in some ways she broke me as much as my real mom.
But I was saved by chance.
My cousin sent me a gift. And I saw for the first time the face of mother's mom this week.
My Grandmother died before I was born and the cruel loss of her beloved mother is what made it impossible for my mom to ever fully heal.
But here not only was my Grandmother but my maternal line. My mom all the way through to the woman who gifted me tribal blood.
And for the first time in my life I am not a motherless lump. Before this week I had no real information of where I came from.
But now I can actually see the faces of those who came before me. I have names and I can see the strength and power they had. I also know why my boobs are saggy and my arms are the size of tree trunks.
I can see the origins of my chin cleft and the mother who created 'the look' that has chastised and frightened wayward children for over a hundred years.
These women have called to me for so long in my dreams, in my faith, in my darkest times they soothed and calmed me from beyond reach. They called and I followed and now finally I can see them. I have names and faces to see in my mind as I call out praises and give offerings not to my Grandmothers but to Vera and Nora and Mary Alice and Rebecca and Susan.
I can anchor myself into a world where I no longer am adrift. A motherless soul trying to mother an absolutely glorious soul I am no longer.
I shared the pictures with my kidlet. And spoke of where we came from. I got to tie us down. Chains of love. They weigh nothing but yet fill the hole on my heart.
And though I am not looking towards Sunday with joy I think I can approach the day with calm.
I have a line of beautiful strong women behind me. And even if the bond that ties me to my own mother frayed loose a long time ago. I can weather the storm I have a good anchor now to keep me safe harboured.