Mother’s Day 2026

I read somewhere about an indigenous method of healing trauma by telling it to rocks and releasing them into water or burying them, and how the practice was banned by missionaries for being superstition (the same people who believed garlic warded off vampires and sneezes were the devil trying to steal your soul), but neuropsychology now confirms that the method works as a real way to rewire memory storage and help quiet the brain.

Well, why not? Humans have had funeral rites for eons for the same reasons. So on my walk that day, I picked up a handful of pebbles and put them in my coat pocket, and when an unwelcome memory bothered me, I pulled one out, told it the story, and tossed it into the stream as I went over the little bridge. Fuck you, I said to the memory as it plunked into the water. And it worked. The thoughts stopped playing on repeat. I did it a few more times, throwing bad memories into the streams, and they went into long-term storage where they belong. Huh.

Hey, if it works on bad memories, maybe it works on good memories, too. I picked up a slightly larger rock and put it in my other pocket. I saw a robin, and an otter, and a flock of cormorants, and I told the rock. Throughout the week, I fed it birdsong, the smell of rain, the trees in the wind - anything good I would want to remember. Maybe it can hold them for me, and tell them back to me some day, like Frederick.

And that is why I was walking around the pond on Monday, crying to a rock about Mother’s Day. 

Instead of a nice sunny hike, or a day shopping for spring clothes and eating takeout, what I got was both barrels of a bed-rotting teenager faced with a cheerful person who wanted to do something fun before 2pm. Who ordered this kid? I have the bad feeling I was just as much of a shit when I was a teenager, and that I am finally getting the comeuppance my mother wished on me. I hope that means the girl will be making stupid art and talking to rocks in a couple decades. 

I did laundry while giving her time to come around (saintly mother), and got yelled at for washing her jacket without checking the pockets for the folded-up permission slip she was supposed to have already turned in. Then I had a nice solo drive to the dump because I was in self-imposed time-out for telling her to do her own fucking laundry then (saintly mother), followed by an impulsive stop at Walmart to buy a cheap tv so I could reclaim my computer monitor. While I was at the store, I picked up some Allegra and Pepsid so I could recklessly experiment with the latest internet pseudoscience miracle perimenopause mood cure, because sure, why not? It’s just antihistamine and antacid, it’s not addictive or contraindicated, probably. Well, it will surprise exactly nobody to learn that this magic potion is complete bullshit. You know why it “clears brain fog”? Because it is a STIMULANT. You can drink a Diet Pepsi and get the same results. Or rub yourself on a smoker’s walls. It did help with my stuffy nose, though, so I cut the allergy pills into thirds to take in smaller doses and still be able to sleep at night. 

The morning was a bust, but in the afternoon I talked to my mother and my boys, and laughed because Gavin tried to send cookies from a place that promised ‘next day delivery to Newfoundland!’ and apparently sent them into the void. They’ll probably show up in a few weeks, after we’ve all forgotten about them, and it will be a fun surprise to see what condition they’re in. While we were talking, my mother texted Mike and ratted on Zenny for being an asshole, and he called her to give her a discreet earful. She hid in the bathroom for half an hour, but came out looking sheepish to help with dinner, and finally muttered Happy Mother’s Day into my chest when she hugged me at bedtime. 

So it went ok in the end, I thought. But when my coworker asked how Mother’s Day went I realized I was about to start crying, so I made a joke, asked how hers was, and then booked it into my office. She came in, put her phone number on my desk, and said she’s always available if I need to talk. My stupid transparent face.

It was my first Mother’s Day without my family. And it was the weekend of Gavin’s university graduation, which I watched on livestream because I couldn’t be there for him. Leif’s high school graduation is next week, and I can’t be there for him, either. And I swore in front of my kid, who I evidently haven’t taught properly how to treat days like Mother’s Day (or Father’s Day, or birthdays?) without another person doing it for her. I felt like a failure as a mom.

But I can do something about it. We are going to work on special event protocol, I’m going to book my tickets back for the summer, and I can help Gavin move up here and get enrolled in the welding or electrical engineering program at my college if he can’t get a job in the next couple months. It’s going to be okay. I have grief and anger in me, but I’m trying to pull it out and settle into this new kind of life. It’s going to take a lot of rocks, though.