I am a childless motherless child and today is mothers day. For years, I spent hours trying to find just the right card and just the right words to write on the card. It’s hard to find one that keeps to a basic unemotional greeting and doesn’t extol the virtues of mom. What I searched for was a card that fulfilled the basic obligation without any hint of sentimentality or even love or affection. Sometimes, I ended up buying blank cards with a flower on the front just to avoid the prospect of sending what would have felt like a hypocritical greeting. I didn’t want to give her the wrong impression or the satisfaction of thinking she had the qualities of a mother or that I believed she did. She gave birth to me. She was my mother biologically. But she did not nurture me. She did not teach me. She did not protect me. These are the things I thought when I would sit pen in hand ready to write something on the card I had finally selected. What to say? I couldn’t even write the words thank you without feeling like a participant in a fraudulent relationship, which is, of course, what we had. For all of my adult life, we had choreographed and danced in a mother daughter pax de deux in which we each pretended that despite our differences there was still a modicum of familial love. The truth was, I stopped loving my mother very early on in my life. She became something I had to endure and transcend. I was not grateful to her for anything. In the end, I usually ended up writing something like enjoy your day, have fun, happy mothers day and other generic versions of the same wish.

She died a few years ago and now mothers day comes and goes without my even noticing or barely being aware of it because of the other mothers and daughters in my life. Mothers day used to be another painful landmark on the roadmap of my life. It was a day that couldn’t help but remind me that I’d never really had a mother. On my passage from childhood to adulthood I had not experienced a motherly figure who pointed me in the right direction and filled my tires with self esteem, confidence and love. I never experienced the soothing comfort of the motherly security blanket that sheltered my friends. My journey through life has not enjoyed the benefit of a mother who was there to reassure me if I had an emotional flat or needed fuel. Even when she was alive, I was motherless and on my own. The Hallmark ads on TV showing loving relationships between mothers and daughters used to bring me to my knees. Watching those beautifully depicted scenarios made me feel like the Morton salt girl was floating above me pouring and pouring her salt on my wretchedly warped heart. And, me, without an umbrella.

In the past, mothers day made me feel like I was a little girl again. I was brimming with hurt, resentment, dread, pain, confusion, disappointment and fear. It hurt to have a mother who was clearly not on my side, who put herself first and her daughter second. It confused me to have a mother who manipulated people and situations to show herself in the best light and shape shifted the reality that I knew. I resented not learning the regular lessons one is supposed to learn from their mother. I dreaded having to be with her or speak to her. The pain shifted from a dull background throb when I was away from her into one that was present, sharp and searing when I had to be near her. Until she died, I was terribly afraid that as bad as it was while she lived it would be worse when she died. I feared the guilt and loss would own me once she permanently left my life and this world. Instead, the minute I heard she was no longer living I sighed with relief and exhaled the pungent air of the life I had known before her death and inhaled the fresh oxygen of life after the death of my mother.

When my friends worry about their daughters I envy the daughters for being the recipients of such concern. When my friends have conflicts with their daughters I have to be careful not to insinuate myself into their stories. The daughters of loving mothers can often behave like the daughter I was. Not many people understand what it’s like to grow up without the crutch of a mother and my stories and recollections can be perceived as criticism of them. When my friends complain about their daughters and how they are treated by them, I wonder if the whole problem was that I was a bad daughter. But, I know that’s not true. I wasn’t a good daughter, but I no longer blame myself for the situation I was born into. Just because I wasn’t good doesn’t mean I was bad.

My childless status is mostly due to my being motherless. Mother child relationships are mysterious to me. There are magic words involved that I never learned. There is an entire language both verbal and physical that is completely foreign to me. I knew that if I had a child I would most likely feel even more lost, abandoned and short changed. My own child could only magnify my lack of a mother. After all, among the many things she did not teach me was how to be a mother. I had no monkey see monkey do to rely upon. I imagine most people think I am childless because I am physically incapable of having children. Or, maybe they think it was a high minded decision about population control. In reality, I didn’t think I could do it.

In retrospect, I realize that in many ways my mother did the best she could. She knew no better and probably should have remained childless herself. There are ways though that she could have and should have known better. For all of us there are times and obligations in our lives when we must think of someone other than ourselves and if we don’t due to a lack of character, imagination or courage then we are at fault. My mother saw the world through her own prism and was never able to view me or anyone or anything else on its own merit. She was incapable of fulfilling her lifelong obligation of motherhood although she pretended to and I sometimes wonder if she actually fooled herself into thinking she did.

So, today, I enjoyed a mothers day brunch with women who are either geographically or emotionally distant from their daughters on this particular day. As I’ve matured, I’ve learned and observed that mother daughter dynamics are as brittle and mysterious to others as they are to me.

Ultimately, I think, what each of us wants is to matter in this world. That one desire probably lies at the crux of why we do most things. It shapes our world view and belief system as well as dictates our rules of survival. In our primary relationships we want to matter in ways that are substantial and not tangential. We want our importance and intrinsic value to the people we care about to be reflected back to us in a way that provide comfort, quiet and calm. We want to be valued and appreciated for who we are and not just what we do or can do for them. The ultimate sustenance is when our very existence matters to someone. This is what love is, I think. But, to matter is different than to be needed. Maybe this is where we go astray sometimes. We think that if we need someone then of course they matter and by deductive reasoning then that also means we love them. But to have someone matter does not necessarily mean we need them and the highest love is one not based on need. I don’t think my mother was able to parse this distinction. Her love was greedy. If I’d had children, I was afraid mine would have been the same.