I hope all of you had a great day yesterday. 

It wasn't Mother Day for us here, we celebrate mothers on another day.

I read this post yesterday:

http://animatedwriting.blogspot.com/2011/05/what-kind-of-mother.html

The author of this post questions what kind of mother abuses her own child and 

what revenge would be appropriated.

As soon as I started reading, my first thought was it really is not that simple.

Here was my response to her post.

I wish it was that easy, it's not. I was one of those children, although I do 

consider myself lucky.

Mine is not the worst story about abuse you will ever hear, but even so not one of 

my friends understand how I could have forgiven her.

Have I forgiven her? I don't know, but it happened such a long time ago. I have had 

time to consider, to reflect, to be angry, to feel guilt, to be sad and to mourn

the relationship I wish to have had.

My mother died when I was a teenager, since then I have gone through a whole range 

of emotions.

One of the worse aspects for me growing up was that not only did she abuse me but 

she didn't protect me from the rest... 

Oh yes, there's more.

What I remember most vividly was the alienation, the cutting words. More than twenty years later,

if I'm not careful I can still hear them, the labels...
It took me years to break free, to heal. Becoming a mother healed me even more, 

but with it came more questions.

Having a child of my own prompted the 'How could she?' 

I fell in love with my daughter the moment I knew she was inside me. I had no role 

model, other than refusing to repeat mistakes from the past. All I did was to trust my

instinct. Caring for a baby was, I found, very easy. 

Yes, I know, you're collapsing from the tiredness, you're sore from the breastfeeding...

In my case I had complications throughout the pregnancy and postbirth. I was ill, 

I was in pain, but I loved her. 

Nothing else mattered. She was hungry, I fed her. She was tired, she slept in my arms.

Oh yes, my daughter was a baby I reluctantly put down.

That's what I mean, that was easy. She had needs, I fulfilled them.

I don't think revenge is the key here. I know my mother must have suffered, I know she 

didn't have a happy childhood. I also know that's no excuse.

I forgot about mother's day until I was pregnant. Of course it brought back memories

 but I broke the cycle a long time ago. I cherish my children and that is what 

matters. My children's love is much better than any retaliation.

So yes, these days, Mother's day is a wonderful occasion. It's not just one day of 

the year though. It's not about presents.

It's about all these special moments, the drawings, the little knick-knacks they make,

the cakes my daughter makes every other week (she's 11). It's about watching them grow

and wondering how they became so big and so wise all of a sudden. It's about going to see 

them perform in their various shows and bursting with love and pride.

It's about overcoming the little and very big odds.

It's knowing I'm lucky to have survived this dreadful illness and fighting to be there 

for them. 

Yes, it's all about love and a million hugs.