“Jasmine!” My sister was making her way into my mother’s house where we had been visiting during Mother’s Day weekend. “Jasmine, I found this wedged in between the windshield wipers of you car!”
I took the envelope with my name written on it and proceeded to turn it over. “What is this?”
“I don’t know. I found it on your car.”
I opened it. “It’s a Mother’s Day card—for me?” I felt lost in a sea of confusion. “It’s an anonymous card addressed to me congratulating me on my first Mother’s Day.”
My sister was laughing as she ran to get her phone. She came back snap several photos for Snapchat, Instagram, and Facebook posts. “Oh my goodness, this is great,” she said while attempting to stifle laughs. “You really don’t know who it’s from?”
As far as I know I have never had children. I didn’t remember adopting anyone and I couldn’t find a normal reason why I would be receiving a Mother’s Day card. “No, someone is just really confused.”
Fast forward five years later. I have received cards congratulating me on my kids (now plural), cards varying in hand writing, and even cards in Spanish each Mother’s Day since the first card arrived.
“Damn, I sure hope my actual kids in the future remember to send me cards like this.”
“You’re still getting cards?” One of my friends seemed to become a little more concerned over the mystery card giver who I had nicknamed my Mother’s Day stalker. “That’s kind of creepy.”
“It’s incredibly consistent and kind of funny.” I looked down at my pile of anonymous cards. “Someone has dedicated their time to purchasing cards every year and hand delivering them to me at my mother’s house.”
“Yeah, that’s f*cking weird.”
“It is weird.”
I’m not sure if I will ever find out who my Mother’s Day stalker is, but I can appreciate the devotion they have kept in keeping up this bizarre tradition of thinking of me on a holiday that doesn’t actually apply to me. I don’t know how long they will keep this up, but I think I would be a little disappointed if I didn’t receive a Mother’s Day card in the future mentioning my non-existing kids.
Jazzed About Stuff 