This is the fifth Mother’s Day since my mother died. I had no children. I will never hear a child call me mom or grandma. At the time I didn’t have children, I thought it wouldn’t bother me. On this one day a year, it does. This is not to say I have not been involved in the lives of countless children. I have. I have my genetic nieces and nephews and almost as many others who call me Aunt Maggy. I am into the great-niece/nephew range now. I take delight in them. I spoil them. I make them behave when they are with me. I love them.
In truth, it is probably best that it is this way. No child had to see the darkest side of me. I did not pass on the genetic flaws I have. I am here to see to the betterment of the lives of the children who come to cross my path. I am always surprised to meet an adult who remembers sitting on my porch, eating freshly baked cookies and listening to the stories I made up. I was just being me. It made a difference to them. I am part of the village. MRJ