After the results of this years' census are in, we may well surpass a U.S. population of 300 million; what is not often counted is the hundreds of thousands whose mothers have died. When you add that group with mothers who have lost a child or had a miscarriage, surprisingly, the number of people for whom Mother's Day is a sad day could be upward of 100 million; possibly one-third of the population. Imagine—while most are scrambling to find that right gift or get those flowers sent, some of our co-workers, neighbors and friends have no tasks, no calls, no gifts to send. They are quiet islands of unspoken grief.
This year, on the second Sunday in May, like the year before it and the year before that one, we will celebrate Mother's Day. There are some that plan ahead for that special gift for Mom; others will use the saving grace of the Internet to send an e-card or gift certificate. Telephones across the nation will ring, delivering "Happy Mother's Day!" greetings. But not all have a call to make.
A friend shared with me how it's a stiller and slower day for her, as the world seems to be hooked up to an energy force that no longer flows through her. As people share what they're doing, not doing, wishing they had done and are feeling guilty that they didn't, she says nothing. For her, Mother's Day is a day that comes around every year that cries out for a filler. What will she do on that day to keep herself busy? She told me that, once in a while, she does speak up if she hears someone complaining about their mother just a little too much or about just feeling generally put upon because of the day. Quietly, she interjects, "I would give anything for a mother to have an argument with right now." She then retreats, hoping they got the simple message that, for her, a demanding, disapproving, picky mother wouldn't be her first choice, but how she would give the world to have a choice and to have a mother still.Get this simple reminder from one of the motherless to all who have mothers