Mother's Day

Mother's Day is kind of a bittersweet day for me. To observe this one, I spent some time at the cemetery.

This is my mom's grave. Sometimes I think my relationship with her is better now. I know that she doesn't have things like ego and judgment anymore, and that makes it easier to let go of mine sometimes when I pray for her or think of her.

She loved purple.

I spent a while there by her grave, praying and thinking and getting a bit teary sometimes. There was a moment when I felt intensely loved, a love that extended to both my brother and I. I had the strong feeling that I should call my brother and let him know about it, which I will do as soon as I finish writing this.

At one point a thought came to me, apropos of nothing that I had been thinking, that I should take one of the tulips for myself, as my own Mother's Day Flower.

This is my son's grave, just a few meters from my mother's. Mothering doesn't stop just because you can't hold your child.

After spending some time at Kahlil's grave, I got up and walked around a bit. I helped an older woman find the grave she was looking for. I saw an extended family having a cookout around a grave. I saw two children playing tag while nearby a middle-aged man was sobbing into an elderly woman's arms. I don't know what the truth there is, but what I saw was a grieving father comforted by his mother, glad but still somehow hurt that his children either don't remember or have somehow moved on.

Loss is universal, but I wouldn't exchange the honor of being my mother's daughter or my son's mother, for anything.