As a child I thought Mother’s Day was about celebrating ALL mothers, especially those who attended our church.
It was an exciting day and there was always a contest. The preacher would hand out large potted plants to the mom with the most children (usually Lois Rodriquez because she had six), the mom who came the farthest, the mom who was the oldest (one of the few times the women were proud of their age), and the mom who had the most family present in church that day. Then all the mothers would stand and receive a small flower to take home.
I sometimes wore a dress that matched my mom’s and I always wore a corsage. In those days, (sounds like I’m ancient doesn’t it?) all of the women wore corsages — it was a Mother’s Day tradition.
Mine was a red rose to honor my mom who was still alive. Mom’s was a white rose to honor her mom who wasn’t.
I remember her grief the first year she opened the corsage box and found the white rose. I was three years old and thought it was such a pretty flower. I didn’t understand what brought her to tears.
“Can I have one like yours next year, momma?” I asked.
She gave me a sad smile, pulled me into a hug and whispered, “I hope not for a long time, honey.” Then she explained to me the meaning of the color of the flowers. (After that it always made me sad to see friends who had to wear white roses.)
As a young married adult, I thought Mother’s Day was about BECOMING a mother.
Almost like a sorority, motherhood was a group you belonged to once you were able to produce an offspring. At first I didn’t notice that I didn’t belong. Then, for a year or two, I realized that I really wanted to belong but didn’t know when or if I would.
I figured out that if I offered to help with the celebration, making announcements or helping hand out the potted plants, that I would feel less awkward when the preacher said, “Will all the mom’s in the room stand up.” If I was already standing, no one would notice that I didn’t fit in.
Eventually, I became the mom of a beautiful, blue-eyed boy.
Then I thought Mother’s Day was about me.
I accepted the gifts, the recognition, and the red corsage and never thought a thing about it. It was a happy day.
Years later I learned that, Anna Jarvis, the founder of Mother’s Day, never intended the holiday to be the commercialized event that it has become. Instead, she saw it as a holiday where you quietly celebrated your own mom… spending time with her, giving her notes of appreciation, and telling her you loved her.
An early photo of my mom with my brother.
It wasn’t supposed to be a celebration of motherhood but a celebration of YOUR mother!
(I liked that idea!)
Which brings me back to now…and those red and white flowers.
Women rarely wear corsages anymore to celebrate the day. But if they did, mine would be white. It has been that color for the last five years and I don’t like it any better than my mom did all those years ago when she opened her box and saw that first white rose.
While motherhood felt like a sorority that women wanted to join, the White Flower Club (what I call the sisterhood of those who have lost our moms) felt like something dreaded and painful and inevitable. It marked a moment in time when my life changed forever.
Now, as an almost-senior-adult, I know that Mother’s day is many things, far more than I could understand when I was young.
It is both celebration and sadness…gratefulness and grief…memories and expectation. It can stir up a host of emotions both hard and sweet.
Despite mom’s absence, I still enjoy Mother’s Day. Remembering silly things we did together fills me with joy. Spending time with my family makes me happy. On the rare occasion when I see a woman wearing a white flower, I don’t feel sad anymore. Instead, I recognize that just like me, she had a mom she loved and wants to celebrate.
Happy Mother’s Day!
Mom and I at our church’s Mother’s Day Banquet.
