on Father’s Days and Mother’s Days
CW: Death, grief, mental illness; no details, but may be too much for some.
I have a lot of issues with celebratory days and awareness days. Let’s not get into the latter because I’ll just go on a rampage otherwise. But I have some particular issues with Father’s and Mother’s Days.
Being an immigrant comes with interesting challenges
One of them is seeing the whole fucking bullshit play out TWICE A YEAR. Why? Because the UK thinks they’re special and need Father’s Day and Mother’s Day on different days than they are in other countries. (WORLD book day anyone? Is on 23 April, not what the UK thinks it is… I digress.) The messaging is everywhere. Twice a year. The commercialisation of it all! The useless presents they try to shove down your throat. The insinuation you don’t love your parent enough if the gift wasn’t expensive. Twice. A. Year. Ugh.
I don’t have parents
This is why these days hurt, especially as escaping it all seems impossible. Try grocery shopping without seeing the bloody seasonal shelf.
Growing up with my grandparents brought all sorts of advantages. I basically had three parents. My – mentally ill hence the not living with her – mum, my grandma and my grandpa (whom I wasn’t blood related to). That comes with a lot of joy; and challenges but let’s not go there. Add to the family unit my grandma’s friends and I had that village that everyone speaks of. They did their VERY best and I felt so loved.
When I was 16, my grandma died. Witch that I’ve always been, I had dreamt of it happening just days before. I knew it was coming. When the phone rang at 3.30 in the morning, I knew it was the hospital with the worst news of my life up until then. Adding insult to injury, my grandpa would only come into the room to tell me four hours later, all ready to go to the hospital. If I wanted to come, grandma had died. Uhm. NO. I wasn’t going anywhere. I retreated deep into myself; parts of which I’ve only recently dared to dig up. I was also the one who had to tell my mum. Broke my heart all over again.
Over a decade passed
Everything was fine. Nothing was fine, but everything was FINE for the next 12 years. There were difficult times and there were times of joy and love and support. Then my mum was taken to hospital. I can’t remember why exactly. I went to see her; she was surprised because I didn’t show myself much. For my mental health, but I’ve always felt awful about it. I went and showed her pictures of her grandchildren (not my kids), of her other daughter; my half sister who got taken away from her as a child by her ex husband. One reason why my father is “unknown” on my birth certificate. I showed her the pictures and told her that my sister and I are in touch now. That we very much like each other and that we’ll visit each other. It was the puzzle piece my mum needed to let go.
Shortly after that visit, during the Easter weekend, she died. When I asked the doctor in charge at the hospital what had happened he said that she had given up. She had no longer taken her medication. She didn’t want to live anymore. Ever since my grandma – her mum – had died, she was a shell of herself. The connection she had had to what we call reality had broken for her. She retreated into herself. Into her Piscean world where she didn’t have to deal with life. I get it, I really do. Usually, her mental illnesses came and went in phases. Since that fateful time in 2002 they had stayed.
The catalyst I needed
What I found out later when I finally allowed myself to dig my whole being into astrology is that I was born during my mum’s first Saturn Return and she died just before my first one. Wow. It catapulted me right into it. For years and years, I didn’t take the hints from the Universe. I lost jobs and things didn’t work out left, right and centre. And still I clung onto life in Germany. But my mum dying after starting to hate yet another job and being made redundant after illness and holidays did the trick for me. I booked a one way ticket to London and have never looked back. Fuck everyone who says you shouldn’t make decisions when you have big feelings. If you can rely on your intuition, it doesn’t fucking matter what else is happening.
Anyway, here I go with Spot and coffee machine and all the books that would fit (and some clothes…) and drove into my future. It wasn’t easy and I relied a lot on help from my grandpa (who had not been happy about my move) in the beginning, but I made it. I was finally home and I felt like I was building something.
Then my world fell apart
10 months later, my grandpa didn’t answer the phone and didn’t call back. He would ALWAYS call back; sometimes he went to the pub and stayed late, so he’d then call back the next day. But he didn’t this time. I tried for several days but I knew what had happened. On 15 February that year, in the middle of the night, I felt him. And I felt deep sorrow. I couldn’t stop sobbing. Between the sobs I told him it’s okay if he wants to let go, I’ll be okay. He let go. A few days later I decided to call the police in my home town to go into his flat to check because the housing association wouldn’t. They called me back with the news. He had died a few days earlier. I flew to Germany the next morning to get things sorted and say goodbye. To the only father I had ever had. I’m still crying writing these words.
That sent me into a grief spiral like no other. I started smoking, I DRANK (always enjoyed alcohol but not like that) and I worked my arse into the ground to drown it all out. I felt so alone. So lonely. I still often do, although a lot of those wounds have healed and I have many people who love and support me today.
So, needless to say: Mother’s and Father’s Days aren’t my favourite days of the year.
But that’s not it
Apart from the commercial bullshit going on, I actually find it fantastic when people have great parents and honour them on these days. Or when they celebrate their spouses, parents of their own children. I love seeing all the soppy bullshit on social media. I sometimes am among them and post a picture of my loved one. I cry all the tears because GOSH, I love when someone loves someone else. I love loving people and I love being loved. So much! Witnessing love is the BEST THING EVER. And I really, truly mean it.
So then these people, usually with a large following on social media, go ahead and add a slide to their carousel or a note in their caption: …and my thoughts go to anyone who finds today difficult. And THAT, witches, is where I draw the line. I find it so unnecessary. Nobody asked. I can scroll past or just not be on social media if I don’t want to see it all. Twice a year. For each of the days. *coughs* I get why people make things inclusive. I try my fucking best to do that, too. (Please call me out – very clearly! – if I fuck up! I want to learn!) But what in the world has happened that we need to add a caveat to our love??? I have similar feelings about pregnancy announcements and notes for people who find that difficult, by the way, but that’s not my place so I’ll stay out of it.
Showing all that love and then adding that note feels so very pointless to me. Yeah, yeah, privilege and acknowledging it. Sure. But those same people (#NotEveryone) usually do FUCK ALL to acknowledge their other privileges, particularly white privilege. So I can’t even take them seriously. Here’s my take: You are not responsible for other people’s emotional responses to your life. There, I said it. Do I personally find some content/trigger warnings helpful (despite evidence showing they may be counterproductive)? Sure, that’s why I use them. But I will not contain my joy. Just as I’m not containing my pride or grief or any other emotion or story I want to put out in the world.
What to do instead? How about making space for grief. Any type of grief. These days (look at me acknowledging shit now!) are not just hard for people because death intervened. Sometimes it’s abuse. Or a million other reasons for going no contact or not being able to accessing a parent. That involves grief. And as a society, we don’t hold space for that. We need to start doing THAT instead of adding a meaningless fucking slide to our social media posts saying I’m sorry this is hard for you. That is not grief support and, frankly, I take it as an insult.
You can disagree with me, go ahead. I don’t mind. I’m sure some people will find the thoughts and prayers sentiment helpful. I just really fucking don’t.