“No children?” I’m always a little surprised when I get that question. Even though I once thought I’d have at least one child in this lifetime, becoming a parent has never been an identity marker for me. And I mostly forget about it until I’m with groups of more family-oriented people. Or on Mother’s Day.
As I moved about the world on Sunday, I felt in the minority of people who weren’t actively observing the occasion. The grocery store displayed special desserts and small gifts ‘just for mom.’ More than one person on the street walked past with a bouquet in hand, and my social media feed was full of friends celebrating their moms or being celebrated by their children and brunches and lunches.
I don’t have a lot of photos of my mom but as I went looking I saw the 70s era photo I posted last year of me with her and my grandmother. Even though its poor quality — a photo of a photo — you can see how young my mom was at the time. She was likely around 36 or so (though an ‘older’ parent) at the time. My Nana, who I always remember as so old, is probably only a couple of years older than I am now! It was likely Mother’s Day, and I’m glad to see that I was clearly enjoying the time with them. Like so many relationships I remember mine with her by its ending more than by its earliest days.
But I can’t remember the last Mother’s Day I spent with my mom. She would have been sick, but not so sick we thought she wouldn’t be with us a while longer or we’d have had the sense to put aside our mutual antagonism. I would have been about the same age she is in this photo, not yet comprehending how the many deaths of loved ones I’d experienced in my early and mid 30s would tip the odds that much further against my having children. Grief can be a time-suck and biological clocks are limited (and far more decisive).
But today, I didn’t feel too much one way or the other about not being a part of the Mother’s Day festivities. I’m generally pro people who are celebrating other people and I’m grateful for all my mom did to raise me. Even that ‘no children?’ question the other day didn’t bother me like it once would have. The rate of passing time continues to shock me, but it also smooths out a lot of edges.
And besides, this spring-verging-on-summer season is giving me life. The blueberries have come in and every day I pick a handful. The past few days have been peak bird migration at the same time the aurora borealis was touching down all over the globe. Friday morning, I went out early looking for migrating birds who might have landed overnight and found a bunch, including quartet of bright, yellow-and-orange Western Tanagers. That night — after reading about the solar storms all day — we drove home from a show in San Francisco looking for strange lights over the Bay. We were tired, and instead of heading for the hills, we opted to venture out around our neighborhood on foot. The sky to the north had a certain pink purple glow. Could it be? It seemed so! Not as spectacular as other places but still extremely cool.