Today was a hard day. Mother's day often is, or at least has been for the last three years. My subconscious dreads it, and I don't realize it until usually Saturday night when I snap at my sweet husband over some miniscule thing. He then usually asks, "What is wrong Honey?" Over the years the reply has gradually changed from "Nothing," to a sincere "I don't know," to "Tomorrow is Mother's Day."
My mother Karen died over three years ago from brain cancer and I am still reeling in that loss. To be honest I don't think that I have dealt with it. I have been busy being a young mother myself to two small children and have pushed my grief down. I haven't done anyone any favors by doing this, especially myself.
So here I am on Mother's Day giving myself the gift of grief. The permission to mourn. The ability to talk or write about it and not worry who is listening or who cares. I care that my feelings are expressed, and hopefully on my journey of expression I will be giving myself the gift of healing.
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