No Taming This Shrew


Mother's Day is hell

That felt good to write.

I've not been a fan of May for many years. My own mom will have been dead 13 years later this month. (On my little brother's birthday, unfortunately. We have always been a family with a dramatic sense of timing.) Mother's Day has since then been a time when I send cards and notes to all the women who mothered me along the way -- both when my mother was alive but too drunk to be present, and after she died when I was a very angry and perplexed 17 year old.

Last night I had a wonderful conversation with some girlfriends about their moms, especially about those of them who were struggling or had been struggling with cancer. Moms can be a frustrating bunch, but the prospect of losing them is so horrific that it's almost paralyzing.

It reminded me that even hallmark holidays serve their purpose, especially when it's to thank the women who were not your mom, who helped you in spite of mom in some cases. I need a kick in the pants to say, "Go thank your mother/aunt/grandmother/sister for doing all that she did!" I don't know what I would have done without those women -- I don't want to know.