Roses on Thursday

Mother's Day, narcissistic mothers, and the gifts we give anyway

I’ve wanted to forget, pass over, and cross off Mother’s Day on my calendar since the moment I realized my mom was a narcissist.

All those years of confusion, distancing, and deception nearly drove me insane.

As a kid, I remember feeling elated when my dad helped me buy a plastic cup from the drugstore to present to my mom for Mother’s Day. To her credit, she kindly accepted the gift. But sensitive little me knew she wasn’t thrilled, and I thought I had greatly disappointed her.

Anything I’ve ever given my mom, including my heart, guts and soul, seemed like I missed the mark. Somehow, it wasn’t what she wanted.

Maybe I wasn’t what she wanted.

I eventually figured out she wanted money.

So it all made sense when I woke up to the truth about her. Perhaps the gift was finding out, so I didn’t waste the rest of my life chasing after a ghost.

The grief that ensued was profound. The divide and conquer: unbearable.

I felt like I’d been circling the same drain for years. Until this year.

I decided to sent a card and a dozen multicolored roses to my mother, whose mind is slowly deteriorating.

This was not an attempt to win her back or receive accolades for this gesture. It was something I wanted to do.

Granted, they arrived on Thursday, when the delivery rates were lower.

I would be lying if I told you the little girl inside me wasn’t excited to get a phone call from her about the flowers. The cautious adult reminded her to remain silent and let our mother pontificate until she was done.

Our goal was to finish the call without being reprimanded.

“Thank you for the beautiful roses,” she said with convincing enthusiasm. “You are a good girl. We did something right raising you.”

My mother spoke about geese and the rude floral delivery man who forgot to ring the doorbell. She didn’t ask about me or how I was doing.

She did toy with me a bit. “There are two white roses in the bouquet. One is you and the other is me.”

I had forgotten about the enmeshment piece.

All those years she lived vicariously through me and trained me to accept that as normal when it was completely bonkers.

And I knew better when her tone lowered, telling me I could come over on Sunday if I wanted. I know that tone. The vibration of deception. The voice of the spider to the fly.

Some of you reading this might feel I missed the love she was truly giving me. How sweet, about the white roses. It’s as sweet as poison.

Still, I relished what I call a ‘golden moment’ with my mother. Not crumbs. A genuine window of connection to all I’ve ever known, like the Elephant Man, whose keepers only fed him potatoes.

I felt the energy of the call fading, but not before we each exchanged the words “I love you” and said our goodbyes. I meant both.

I hung up and stared out our front picture window. The trees rustled in the wind and the sun came out, illuminating our fresh-cut, neon-green spring lawn.

I felt content and peaceful.🌸

To those celebrating loving mothers, I am genuinely happy for you. My mother-in-law was a wonderful lady who showed me what it felt like to be loved by a caring mom.

To those who have mixed feelings about this day, I have immense compassion for you, and I send you love and a big hug.

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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