It was an inevitability. 

The Hallmark cards never captured the experience. Every year they asked me what I wanted for Mother’s Day. And every day I said the same thing...I wanted nothing except for a day without conflict. No breakfast in bed. No reservations at a local restaurant. No fancy jewelry or clothes. No crying, no arguments, no tattling. 

Just a nice day with those I loved best, my children. Ah, a mother can dream.

It started with some cards and devolved from there. I think it was the pressure of having too high an expectation on those little psyches that doomed my dream. It was always, and I mean, Every Single Time, a disaster. I set us all on that course towards the iceberg. Like I said, it was inevitable. 

My recollections of my own mom’s Mother’s Days are sketchy. I do remember making her cards when I was little. And I think remember picking flowers from her garden and presenting them to her as if I’d grown them myself. So today, even though she’s no longer with us, I am giving this painting to her. This time I actually did sort of grow it.

Yes, I still have my own saved and treasured Mother’s Day cards, drawn by my children in crayon. They’re in a box in the basement along with report cards and letters from afar. And I treasure them.  But I also have memories of my sweet babies’ breath and the improbable softness of their newborn skin. I can feel their chubby arms around my neck like it happened yesterday, not decades. These are the things I truly treasure. And they didn’t have to do anything special except to be in this world along side of me. Now that’s a gift. 

Painting: For Mother © Lissa Banks 2024