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SALT LAKE CITY — My mother always aimed to capture the small things in life.
Wherever she went, there was a camera around her neck and she was hunched over snapping pictures. She was determined to document the small things in her life, because she learned early on that those were the important things.
But then, she was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was a senior in high school, and the little things didn't seem to matter as much to me with her huge prognosis looming in my face. The cancer came and went and then came back again.
I left to serve a mission for my church, confident that I would see my mother taking pictures when I came back. However, about halfway through my 18-month mission, I received the call that the cancer had won and my mother had passed away.
The news crushed me, and for 9 long months I walked around with a heavy weight on my chest. When I returned home from my mission, part of me expected to see my mom waiting for me at the airport with her camera and her wide smile.
The pain slowly turned to numbness as time wore on — until Mother's Day rolled around. Then the absence in my life became a neon flashing sign everywhere I looked. I felt that as someone who had lost their mother and didn't have any children, I had no reason to celebrate Mother's Day. I realized that I had joined a crowd of women who dread Mother's Day like they dread getting cavities filled.
The more I talked with people, the more I realized that there are a lot of women who hate Mother's Day. For the women who can't have children, it's a painful reminder of their unfilled dreams. For the women who have lost children, it's a painful reminder of what has been taken from them too soon. For some women who have children, it makes them feel guilty for not being a "good enough" mother. And for the women like me who have lost their mothers, it's a painful reminder of that loss.
Every year when Mother's Day rolled around, it was an emotional slap in the face, reminding me that I no longer had a mother to send a Hallmark card to or to call and ask for advice. The flowers I saw in grocery stores became a bitter reminder that the only place I could deliver flowers was a gravesite.
Then one day as I was looking at pictures my mother had taken, I had a life changing realization. The only reason that Mother's Day had become such a painful holiday for me was because of how great a person my mother had been. I felt sad because I missed her, and I missed her because of what a great mother she had been to me. I realized how lucky I was to be able to call her my mother at all.
She had tirelessly taken pictures as a way to celebrate and capture the accomplishments of her 10 children. She had been our biggest supporter and cheerleader by even recognizing the small things we did.
I realized that as a way of honoring her and her legacy, I could find joy in the small things too. I could embrace celebrating Mother's Day by doing small things for others to honor her memory.
I could encourage others to look for the silver linings in each of their hard days. I could help other women realize that they could be a "mother" to so many around them. I could let others know that they were loved, if they didn't have a mother there to love them. I could help other women focus on the small things that bring them joy in life. I could go out and spend time with and take pictures of the people that I care about, just like my mother did.
I could aim to capture the small things in life — because those turn out to be the important things.
