The age-old notion of “making every day Mother’s Day” has become such a trite phrase in this season of familial appreciation. Once again, it’s been used as an excuse not to celebrate a day that’s often set aside for the powerful women of the world, nurturing and bearing life in spite of what we will become in the future and what we have become today.
I’ve often lamented the fact of expressing affection to my mother in this day of days, and as the celebration rapidly approaches, I have come to the quaint conclusion of sending her flowers for all the days that I haven’t been home for the past few weeks. I’m trying desperately for it to come off as a symbolic representation of my life fully blooming into what I’ve always wanted it to become, all thanks to her.
Let’s face it, we all owe much of our success to our mothers. There’s even a saying that goes: “Even bad men love their mothers,” and no matter what we say, there’s a sort-of twisted truth to that saying, a kind of universal motherly affection that transcends our own humanity. It’s a sort of nurturing love that we feed off from the Earth because even a mother can care when she’s least capable.
This is why “making every day Mother’s Day’” is such a phrase wrought with a sense of insensitivity. While it’s true that our mothers care for our day-to-day needs, but it’s that sort of mundanity that makes it all the more special. It’s a sort of automatic response to them bringing life into this world.
To blend that special experience with the mundanity of daily life would be a major disservice to mothers everywhere. This is why “Mother’s Day” celebrations exist at all. It acts as a symbolic representation of our love to our mothers, as we dedicate an entire day to them. As I lament which type of flowers to buy my mother, I realize that much like the symbolic day itself, the gift itself pales in comparison to what it truly means in the grand scale of things.
So, as I pace the four corners of my mind, constantly thinking of what I can give my mother on this special day, I decide to think about what it truly means and how I can express that meaning through my actions rather than the transitory nature of my words. I realize that I want this symbol to appear in full bloom, as much as my affection for my mother, whom I’ve half-abandoned in search of a life for myself.
“Mother’s Day” to me isn’t a return to the womb per se. It’s an act of appreciation to our mothers, a sort of affectionate gesture, a symbol of our love. It could mean a lot of things. At the end of the day, it’s all about making my own meaning and expressing it as eloquently as I can to my own mother. I see it as love personified, solidified, and expressed. That’s all it truly is to me, and I hope I can get it across through my actions.