My mother has always been one of my best friends despite her many declarations that mothers cannot be friends, which works out well in my favour. It means as a mother, she must love me unconditionally and as a friend, she must understand the weakness of my character that leads me to spend Mother's Day out shopping for myself rather than remembering to call her and wish her a happy Mother's Day.
After all, as all good friends know, all weaknesses of character can be blamed on our mothers, can't they?
It wouldn't have mattered if I had called, however; evidently, as my mother informed me later in the day, she spent Mother's Day in the hospital, having her favourite ring (not her wedding ring, for the record and I'm not sure what that says about her) cut off by an allegedly attractive doctor after her finger swelled up in the night, though no one knows why.
Mother's Day morning is meant to be spent getting served breakfast in bed by your children or being taken out for a scrumptious brunch or something similar. It is not meant to be spent in the hospital while a doctor cuts off your ring to return circulation to your finger, even if that doctor is an admittedly attractive one who feels badly about destroying your ring.
And to make matters even worse, allegedly, my mother had to drive herself to the hospital. And salt in the wound? There was not even a voice mail wishing her a happy Mother's Day from her favourite child (me) waiting for her when she returned from the hospital.
But my mother, as mothers often do, soldiered through the unpleasantness of an unexpected trip to the hospital, just as she did when I was in Grade 2 when my father was away on some military exercise and she burned her eyeball with a curling iron. Rather than sit and lament at the pain and awkwardness of the injury or worry about potentially going blind, she calmly called a taxi, packed her children into it and set off to the emergency room.
After this year's visit to the hospital, because my mother is crazy, she returned home and cooked a massive brunch for herself because there was no one there to do it for her (apparently my father and younger brother don't know either the meaning of Mother's Day or how to turn on an oven) and ate it.
I feel this is a representation of the pioneering spirit of mothers everywhere. There's no time to sit back and think, “This is Mother's Day. This is a day in which I can lay in bed and wait for others to make me breakfast while I peruse a romance novel and idly contemplate the luxurious ways in which I can spend the day.”
Instead, as quite often happens, instead of thinking those thoughts, a mother gets up, gets ready to face the day, does the things that need doing, even when they aren't the most pleasant of things, and those around her rarely notice how smoothly their days run because of a little motherly interference.
By the time my father and brother woke up to enjoy their scrumptious brunch, my mother had already been to the hospital and back again, losing a precious piece of jewelry along the way.
When I asked her how it made her feel, driving herself to the hospital on Mother's Day, my mom said “Like a superhero,” and laughed.
Kudos to you, Mom, and all the moms out there too, unspoken heroes who do what needs doing, especially when there's no one else out there to do it for them. Because they are out shopping and enjoying the day.
And no, I'm not just writing this because I feel badly. I would have totally driven you to the hospital if I was there. I swear. Love you.
