reason 493.

Every year around Mother's Day, I'd stand in front of the card section at the local grocery store or Target and get a knot in my stomach. All those gushy, mushy cards, expressing such love and gratitude to the women who bore us. I never wanted to buy one of those cards. I never wanted to celebrate Mother's Day. I felt so alone, so left out. Watching young women my age picking out cards for their mothers, smiling and clutching that perfect folded gift as soon as they found it. Reading all of the cards that never said anything I could actually say to my mom, let alone feel about her. What kind of card do you get for a mother who suffers from schizophrenia? Who was never really there for you because she couldn't be? Who was too sick to even carry on a lucid conversation with you? What does that kind of card say?

To Mom, on Mother's Day

Thank you for not being in the psych ward this year.

To a Wonderful Mother

Well, at least when she's on her meds.

Dear Mom...

You've been the best psychotic mother a kid could ever have.

I say these now in a semi-joking way because there's been a lot of healing in the past year or two. Prior to this healing, I don't think I could even write a blog post about my mom without crying my eyes out. But now. Oh, but now.

My dad is currently in Russia on business. My mom sent me an email telling me how much she misses talking to him. My parents have been married for more than three decades, despite my mother's illness. My father, my hero. My role model for what it means to truly love. To truly be married to someone. In sickness and in health. And that part of the email that said she misses talking to him? What a blessing that she can say that! She never could've have said that, expressed that emotion. Her illness was too strong, too controlling. But now. Oh, but now.

I'm going over to my parents' house tomorrow after work to make dinner for my mom. I wish it was Mother's Day, because I'd bring eleventy-seven of those cards with me. Just to tell her how much I love her. And how I've missed talking to her all these years.

Now. Oh, now. How thankful I am for now.

with love from Pittsburgh,

Laura

{I love LOT 9 PRESS. I want the print above.}