From the time I was born until I was 13 years old, my mother was Mom.  Then Denver happened (1968), and the Mom I knew no longer existed.   It was another 25 years before Mother actually died (1993).

I won’t go into all the ‘stuff’ involved; those who actually know me already know I had a less-than-stellar relationship with Mother.  I don’t celebrate Mother’s Day, and for much of the time when she was alive, it was hit-or-miss whether I’d even send her a card, much less a phone call.

For those who had or still have a viable relationship with your mother, that’s great.  I hope you have opportunity to let her know what she did right in raising you, let her know how you feel about her.  If there is any redeeming quality in your relationship, focus on those good parts.  I mean, we all know that mothers do make mistakes, and they do things that hurt us, but if you can recognize they work from a good heart and love, then it’s easier to forgive the hurts and count all the good things she did and all the things she taught you.

After all, whatever she did, right or wrong, it’s part of what shaped you to be the person you are.  It is hard to make peace with who you are if you can’t reconcile and appreciate the people who shaped your life.

There are loads of things I wish had been different.  I am who I am, in part because of who Mother was and the things she did that impacted my early years.  Nothing I can do about it now, I suppose, other than continue to examine myself and be for myself the parent I wish I’d had.