Anna Marie Jarvis, who was never a wife or mom herself, died in bitter regret as the spearhead for what we know as Mother’s Day. What began as her successful campaign for the formal recognition of “the woman who has done more for you than anyone in the world” became in her eyes a parody of itself in time – the confection, floral and greeting card industries had a field day at the expense of her genuine public sentiment. Mother’s Day was the country’s second largest consumer holiday amid a $19 billion expenditure in 2014, with Anna fervently decrying its capitalist foundations until her dying day on Nov. 24, 1948 at age 84. Anna’s story isn’t unknown to those who see Mother’s Day as the loving tribute it’s supposed to be. She’d lobbied tirelessly for nine years to establish it, even quitting her good job with a finance company to eke out more time, until President Wilson proclaimed it a national holiday in 1914. This year, we’re heading into our second century of Mother’s Days, which is to say that the tribute has long ago taken on a life of its own. Such staying power doesn’t evolve without a colossal central historical source – and as Anna led the crusade for a national statement on mothers and motherhood, it’s maybe worth knowing a little more about the maternal object of her affections. Ann Marie Reeves Jarvis was born in Culpepper, Va. on Sept. 30, 1832 – and from then on, life became a terribly brutal prospect. Ann would give birth to 13 children in 17 years; only four of them survived to adulthood, with things like measles and diphtheria claiming the rest. With every loss came a new resolve, fueled by a bond that excels life itself – and soon, Ann became exponentially bigger than her tragedies, harnessing her energies into what she called Mothers’ Day Work Clubs, set up to address sanitation, homelessness and child safety during the Civil War. Even as Virginia had become a bloody hotbed of Confederate support, the clubs recognized no division between Union and Confederate personnel as the undaunted Ann and her volunteers treated the ill and organized fellowship events attended by soldiers from both sides. Threats of violence accompanied her efforts, of course – but otherworldly oversight would rule as Ann, now a Grafton, Va. resident, continued her activism in the name of community togetherness. She taught Sunday school for a quarter-century; local churches welcomed her lectures on public health, gender equality and mother figures from the Bible and other literature. The great heart quietly stopped beating on May 9, 1905, with daughter Anna launching the first unofficial observance of Mother’s Day three years later. But Anna couldn’t foresee Wilson’s innocent declaration as a marker for what she’d likely call the beginning of the end. She’d die in poverty after years of vehement opposition to the avarice that she said stoked every second Sunday in May, fueling the cancer that had declared itself on the American landscape. “What will you do,” she asked, “to route charlatans, bandits, pirates, racketeers, kidnappers and other termites that would undermine with their greed one of the finest, noblest and truest movements and celebrations?” While her descriptors are a little strong, they’re also understandable in the face of Ann’s glorious life. She, not Anna, is the archetype mom worldwide amid her diligence, kindness and boundless grit – and a little more reflection on her work tends to justify Anna’s regret. For one daughter, our profiteering culture has wrung the sentiment from the day; the happy irony is that its true central figure had lived in oblivion of what was to come.
