Here’s some beauty in melancholia found on social media today and last week.
From Cynthia Markert:
From: Beci Bolding
When I was really young, I was invited to a party at which all the kids would be participating in a blind gift exchange. I was super-excited and made sure my mom bought something that would give me some cool cache with the other kids. It might have been a Barbie, it might have been a nail polish kit; I don’t recall. So after games and cake, the gifts were finally passed around. I saw that the one I got was the smallest, but didn’t quite yet lose hope. But then I opened it. And it was this little balsa hummingbird. I was devastated. I think I cried all the way home and probably did my share of bitter elementary pillow muttering that night. But you know what? Here it is. I still have him all these years later. A little banged up, but he’s my symbol for gratitude now. I’m probably the only kid from that party who still has their gift. Just might have been the best one after all.
from Ali Blair on Mother’s Day
Some of us have mothers who call us apostates and make us leave their house. Some of us have mothers who value their religion and their relationship with “god” more than they do their own flesh and blood. Some of us grew up with religions that tell us that while “men are the head of the household” women have influence on the family and therefore should be celebrated…. as long as they know their place. Some of us feel our own walk of motherhood has been one of sheer survival more than jubilant celebration of a job well done. Some of us will always feel disconnected from these holidays and traditions that most take for granted. Some of us are fortunate enough to find a home and a life embracive of all our broken and repaired pieces and parts. And some of us have accepting friends who show up to drink mimosas on Sunday and only care about the here and now. Grateful for that and the resilience of all the babies. May we not fuck them up.