My Lens of Mother's Day

I can be a bitch today.

For me, mother’s day is one of the worst days of the year. Everybody essentially brags about what I do not have. They are only grateful one day a year for their mother, when I am forced to be grateful for mine every single day from a distance. Because every day, I am aware of the fact that she is not here. It is the one day of the year I allow myself to be angry about this harsh reality of life. I can’t tell my friends to stop talking about their mom picking out her Era’s outfit on a random day in January, because then I am a bitch. But on mother’s day, everyone else is also aware of the pain that I forever live with.

I think that I need to preface that I have multiple women in my life who have gone out of their way to love and support me, and for this I am eternally grateful. But this does not fill the hole in my heart from losing my mom; from feeling her hand stiffen and hearing the flatline. From not feeling her hug me or visiting her grave in years. The more I write about her, the more I realize I need to say. It is possible to love all of the women in my life and still feel angry and empty, because watching the soul leave someone you love is terrifying and traumatizing. The only thing worse is swiping past all the souls that are still here, taunting me about the greatest disparity in my life.

I was going to write something new, but my earlier works from the beginning of my writing journey have this element of angst that I admire from my younger self. At that point in my life, I felt anger for being different, for seeing the world through a different lens and paving my own Appian Way. As the years have passed and my perspective on living the best life I can without my mom has expanded, there is a certain gusto missing. As a Catcher in the Rye fan, this is one I quite loved, but all of the men and women who have gone out of their way to show me love and respect have healed some of the same wounds Salinger suffered from in his war. This is a battle I will always be fighting in, the pain and love inside my heart from my mom, but I am honored to serve such an amazing woman.

I describe my mother all of the time in my work and in conversation, but most readers here have no idea what my childhood was like or how the memories look all these years later. Lucky for me, my mom, like most stereotypical moms, loved to post on facebook. Here she posted embarrassing and comical pictures such as this one

and true recordings of love. For one of my college essays that got me into zero Ivy league schools, I wrote about my mother’s social media and the storyline of my childhood that she preserved. She was the ultimate influencer posting everything updates on her cancer journey, and shit talking my dad (who is a cheap scumbag) to cool recipes and fun facts. I hope that you all enjoy reading about the sometimes cringey time capsule gifted to me and to you.

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Through My Mother’s Lens

Periodically I scroll through my mother’s facebook and react to a random post. This sounds weird, but it is how I keep her alive. In 2016, she lost her battle to breast cancer and I lost my world. The woman who enriched my life, who was always there was suddenly gone. As I grow older these memories seem more distant and fuzzy, but luckily my mother captured them for me. Upon her abandoned facebook page lies the highlights of my childhood and sentiments of the love she felt for my brothers and me.

As I scroll through the various pictures of our family, I travel back in time to the date in the corner of them. On July 1, 2009, she updated her job status to left at Ace Program, NAFI, RI “I am not working due to cancer, but that is where my heart will always be. My dream job…” revealing her condition to the world. Later on November 17th, she uploaded a picture captioned “trying to be pretty if that is possible.”

Seeing my strong mother insecure about her chemo hair triggered a flood of tears. How could she, radiating in beauty, feel so poorly about herself. The smile on her face that day was the smile I saw every day celebrating all of the joyful moments we shared: making my bed for the first time in 2010, my first (and only) fashion show in 2011, running my first race in 2014 and the last gymnastics meet she attended in 2016.

I see that smile everyday on myself, and I am proud to wear it. “Trying to be pretty,” I wish I could have said ‘Mom, you are beautiful, you radiate positivity and brighten everyone’s day with it.’ Those words can never be uttered, but they are commented on that post. Within hours of commenting on my mother’s first picture, the post was flooded in likes, hearts and comments about how she touched people's lives. Knowing that others miss her as dearly as I do comforts me. I am not the only one who still feels agonizing grief after 5 years without her.

All of her posts share one theme: she loved her kids more than anything in the world. The walls of the royal crest apartment were decorated with our school art in 2010. My brothers and I have been her profile picture since 2011, each face with enormous smiles. She managed to obtain action shots of Isaac's boxing, Sam’s basketball, and my athletics, all on a flip phone camera (which is a lot harder than it sounds).

My mom would take every opportunity to praise me, on September 6, 2015 she shared a post about daughters being a blessing and captioned it “She is the best of me Miss Luci!!!” and then on December 21, 2015, she shared a post for short girl appreciation writing “Luci sweetie this is for you!!!”. Looking back at these simple shares and comments bring my mother’s love back to me; they complete me. Although she is not with me, I am lucky to have confirmation that she loves me and always will.

One might consider my time on her facebook page stalking, but it is remembrance. Her feed is the only proof of the wonderful life that she has created left. Memories fade, people come and go, but pictures last forever. I will spend the rest of my life thanking my mother for raising me, being her beautiful self and preserving the greatest moments of my childhood.

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This mother’s day, I will not be spending it happily with the woman who birthed me, celebrating the sacred bond we share or the memories that ensue. As of now, I do not know how I will be spending the one day I can be a bitch; I might complain to a store manager just because I can or be problematic just because of my alibi. Looking back at my mother’s facebook with all the blurry photos and boisterous memories, I can see all of the reasons why I am grateful to have had her for a mother despite the pain that I will always feel. Those pictures are laced in pain, but also pixelated beauty that I will spend the rest of my life reveling in: joy, love, a little bit of sadness-family. The love my family had, has, is forever fossilized and only a few clicks away.