We’re days away from from a certain “M” day.
I know, as in years past, that if I’m out and about the second Sunday in May, I’ll get more than one person wishing me a Happy Mothers Day. It’s quite surreal. They always catch me off guard. I can’t help but look for the hidden camera. Have I been Punk’d? Is it like St. Patrick’s Day. Is every woman suddenly a “mom” on Mother’s Day?
The casual “now have a happy M day” cheerfully delivered once tore me apart. The “M” didn’t stand for Mother. It stood for Mourning. How many tears have I wept on that day? More than enough to fill a Great Lake … for lost children, lost chances, loss of innocence, loss of my future as a grandmother (you can’t say I don’t have range when it comes to mourning). The weeks just before, when the marketing machine was going full tilt, served up torturous, painful reminders that took a few weeks to get over.
I’ve come a long way since those sad and angry days. This year I am not going to let it get the upper hand or flatten me. I’m not going to hit delete as fast as the “M” subject header shows up in my inbox. It’s time to teach “M” Day providers a little lesson. I’m going to forward the ads to the customer service department and ask what sort of specials they offer for infertile women. I can be as cheeky as the people serving up the unwanted emails.
Meanwhile who wants to join me for a little laughter is the best medicine? Tap into your creative side. You know you want to …
Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, Your Uterus is Whack, But That Hardly Describes You!