We're still a month off from Mother's Day and I'm not looking forward to it. It's kind of ironic, because even back when I had mothers and grandmothers and great-grandmothers, I STILL didn't look forward to it.
That was for different reasons though. Back when everyone was still alive, Mother's Day was difficult because I had to deal with, well, all my mother-y people. Gramma would always go to church so she could get her flower and be able to come home and talk about how "nice" it was because other people had family at church with them and how "nice" it was how some other woman would get an extra flower for being the one there with the most family members.
It was truly this large serving of passive-aggressive that was Gramma's major gift for the day. She'd buzz off how we're all heathens for weeks past Mother's Day. It was better than any box of candy I could have gotten her. Besides, I could never stand church on Mother's Day. It would always be a sermon about how mothers should act and how being a mother was like the best thing a woman could do. My teeth would always be on edge.
While Gran was at church, my mom would come over to Gran's house and start cooking. I would hang out with her, talk with her about things, watch the house whenever the prospect of seeing Gran run her nerves into such overdrive that she would need to leave so she could go smoke. As I've mentioned before, my mother and her mother never got along very well. The games they would play were old and written with rules no one really understood. Not even them.
At some point my brother would join us. He would be happy to see Mom and about like her when it came to seeing Gran. By the time my brother was there, Gran would be home soon. I would prepare myself for the coming hours. I would promise myself I'd not say things to be hurtful . . . or just weird. I would not take things so seriously or be offended at every and any thing directed towards me. I would not choose my battles, because this was not a war. I would not fight. I would not be negative.
I'm in kind of my Glass Half Full mindset, so I'm going to think that all four of us were telling ourselves this same thing. No fights. No hurtful discussions. No weirdness. No negative. Just the nice conversation over an observance of Mother's Day.
Instead . . . .
Gran would come in with her Dish of Passive-Aggressive about church. Mom would follow this with criticism about the people at the church or just religion in general. The awkward silence. Then either I or my brother would say something funny. Then the other sibling would pick up on that and we'd try to redirect the discussion. This would work for a few back and forths as Gran and Mom stared at each other. But once we lost our pacing, Gran would go right back to the first topic and begin, in an offended and only slightly polite tone, to defend against all the statements Mom made.
Along with being able to grow absolutely any plant imaginable, my grandmother's other true talent was being able to never be distracted from a change in topic of conversation. She could always, ALWAYS go right back to whatever you were trying to get away from. Thankfully, lunch would be ready and we'd sit down to eat. Mom's meal would be great, as always, but somehow Gran would offer her some backhanded compliment that always felt insulting. And Mom would take it as an insult.
Things were in a downward spiral after that. Any chance they got, they would dig their knives in deeper. If Gran said something that was remotely wrong in any factual way, Mom would correct her. Gran would go on the defensive.
I could go on, but you get the idea. Mother's Day was stressful. And now . . . everyone is gone. So, while it's not stressful, it's sad.
And I wonder how long it will be like this? How many years from now on will I just feel all orphaned and shitty on Mother's Day? Maybe this is why women have kids, so they don't have to feel all lost after the mamas pass away.
Not that it makes me want to have kids. The last thing I need is to be 78 and feeling all orphaned while some ungrateful brat child of mine hands me a card they didn't sign and then tries to correct me on all the crazy stuff I say.
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