Haven't written much recently, and I don't know how many (or rather, how few) people might still visit the blog, but I have got something to say this evening. So if you're there, hello! And if it's only me, well I won't have to worry too much about it being understandable for someone who doesn't live inside of my brain.
One reason I haven't written is that my work involves writing, and I've needed to catch up on work, and sometimes that doesn't leave much brain-power or mental energy for other things.
But here I am, and here is the subject: Mother's Day.
I don't have any memories whatsoever of Mother's Day celebrations or even any acknowledgement of there being a special day like this during my first marriage or the early years of my children. I guess it wasn't part of the cultural context of our lives. And Pax was only 3 when he died, so he wouldn't have been the originator of any Mother's Day cards or anything.
Anyway, since being back in the UK (that's since 1998 basically), Mother's Day has been, well, what it is.--Mother's Day, and I have been a mother, so it was a day to mark and appreciate.
In Catherine's adult life, she would sometimes celebrate Mother's Day with me, and sometimes not. Sometimes she'd buy a card and forget to send it. Other times she'd get me flowers and a beautiful card, writing a lovely message to the "bestest mummy" as she called me one year. Mother's Day of 2009--at least I think it was that year, I'm starting to get a bit mixed up--she was in hospital but we took her out for the afternoon for coffee and dessert to this rather famous pub/restaurant that is literally lopsided, "The Crooked House." You can see it here : The Crooked House
Mother's Day 2011 is another story. It fell on a Sunday. Catherine arrived on Monday morning with two bouquets, one for me and one for my mother, as the plan was to drive her up to Manchester to visit her grandmother. So that's what we did. Cath stayed with us for two days and left on the Wednesday afternoon.
A week later, Catherine was no longer alive.
I still have the flowers she gave me. They are withered and dried, but I have them in the corner of the bedroom and I will weep a new set of tears when they finally fall apart. It feels like they are the only Mother's Day flowers that I will ever be given. It's not literally so, as Simon sometimes gets me flowers. But he is my husband, and not my children, and that makes it so so different.
Last year--2012--was my first Mother's Day without any living children. It was just a few weeks before Catherine's anniversary, and I don't have any remembrance of those days except I can be fairly sure I cried much of the time and probably wrote desperate notes on "The Compassionate Friends" forum (support group for bereaved parents). It was devastating to be childless. It was agony to be reminded of the fact by everything going on around me--the shops decked out and the adverts on TV repeating endlessly, "Buy this for Mother's Day", "Give your mother a treat..."
It's the same this year of course. Even "Groupon" is in on the act, with a special set of offers for Mother's Day, and a nice offer of a Mother and Daughter Photo Shoot.
It's salt in the wound, a painful reminder of what I had before, but do not have now.
However, I'm glad to tell you that I'm not in the exact same state as I was this time a year ago. The main difference is that despite my children not being here, I still feel like a mother.
Though my children are not alive, I'm still trying to take care of them, whether through the memorials at their graves, or mentioning them in the books I write (for example, there's a dedication page in a devotional book I had published a few months ago), or in other ways honouring their memories. I'm still "mothering."
Then there are a few other people that are making the ride a little less rough:
Besides Simon, who is as caring, patient and supportive as always, there is also a kind and precious friend came to stay for a couple of days earlier this week (you know who you are! :) . This morning when I was putting my plastic seed germinators onto the windowsill of the spare room (trying to get some tomatoes and flowers started), what did I find tucked behind the curtain but a Mother's Day card and little gifts! Oops, Simon should have warned me not to look. It is a very nice and thoughtful surprise, one that I stumbled upon 2 days early. (Big hugs and thanks to you Avril!!)
And then there's the priest who we are communicating with at the St Francis Cathedral in Bhopal. He calls me "mother" in his emails.
So I don't feel quite as bleak and childless as I did this time last year, but most of all I am more convinced than I was then that having carried and given birth to two children, having raised them (although not as long as I would have liked), I am STILL a mother, even if they're not here. If they'd emigrated, I'd still be a mother, wouldn't I?
If there any other bereaved parents reading this, the same goes for you too. We are still parents, and we mothers are still mothers.
Well, I'm trying to be brave, and I don't know how Sunday will pan out (if you're reading this from other countries you may be confused as the dates may be different, but here in the UK, this coming Sunday is Mothering Sunday). I will avoid getting unnecessarily miserable--I probably won't go to church, we won't eat out (despite so many restaurants offering free meals for Mothers!), and hopefully I won't even need to leave the house, because seeing other mothers still with their children would be stretching my grace limit. But for the moment, this is how I'm feeling:
-
One reason I haven't written is that my work involves writing, and I've needed to catch up on work, and sometimes that doesn't leave much brain-power or mental energy for other things.
But here I am, and here is the subject: Mother's Day.
I don't have any memories whatsoever of Mother's Day celebrations or even any acknowledgement of there being a special day like this during my first marriage or the early years of my children. I guess it wasn't part of the cultural context of our lives. And Pax was only 3 when he died, so he wouldn't have been the originator of any Mother's Day cards or anything.
Anyway, since being back in the UK (that's since 1998 basically), Mother's Day has been, well, what it is.--Mother's Day, and I have been a mother, so it was a day to mark and appreciate.
In Catherine's adult life, she would sometimes celebrate Mother's Day with me, and sometimes not. Sometimes she'd buy a card and forget to send it. Other times she'd get me flowers and a beautiful card, writing a lovely message to the "bestest mummy" as she called me one year. Mother's Day of 2009--at least I think it was that year, I'm starting to get a bit mixed up--she was in hospital but we took her out for the afternoon for coffee and dessert to this rather famous pub/restaurant that is literally lopsided, "The Crooked House." You can see it here : The Crooked House
Mother's Day 2011 is another story. It fell on a Sunday. Catherine arrived on Monday morning with two bouquets, one for me and one for my mother, as the plan was to drive her up to Manchester to visit her grandmother. So that's what we did. Cath stayed with us for two days and left on the Wednesday afternoon.
A week later, Catherine was no longer alive.
I still have the flowers she gave me. They are withered and dried, but I have them in the corner of the bedroom and I will weep a new set of tears when they finally fall apart. It feels like they are the only Mother's Day flowers that I will ever be given. It's not literally so, as Simon sometimes gets me flowers. But he is my husband, and not my children, and that makes it so so different.
Last year--2012--was my first Mother's Day without any living children. It was just a few weeks before Catherine's anniversary, and I don't have any remembrance of those days except I can be fairly sure I cried much of the time and probably wrote desperate notes on "The Compassionate Friends" forum (support group for bereaved parents). It was devastating to be childless. It was agony to be reminded of the fact by everything going on around me--the shops decked out and the adverts on TV repeating endlessly, "Buy this for Mother's Day", "Give your mother a treat..."
It's the same this year of course. Even "Groupon" is in on the act, with a special set of offers for Mother's Day, and a nice offer of a Mother and Daughter Photo Shoot.
It's salt in the wound, a painful reminder of what I had before, but do not have now.
However, I'm glad to tell you that I'm not in the exact same state as I was this time a year ago. The main difference is that despite my children not being here, I still feel like a mother.
Though my children are not alive, I'm still trying to take care of them, whether through the memorials at their graves, or mentioning them in the books I write (for example, there's a dedication page in a devotional book I had published a few months ago), or in other ways honouring their memories. I'm still "mothering."
Then there are a few other people that are making the ride a little less rough:
Besides Simon, who is as caring, patient and supportive as always, there is also a kind and precious friend came to stay for a couple of days earlier this week (you know who you are! :) . This morning when I was putting my plastic seed germinators onto the windowsill of the spare room (trying to get some tomatoes and flowers started), what did I find tucked behind the curtain but a Mother's Day card and little gifts! Oops, Simon should have warned me not to look. It is a very nice and thoughtful surprise, one that I stumbled upon 2 days early. (Big hugs and thanks to you Avril!!)
And then there's the priest who we are communicating with at the St Francis Cathedral in Bhopal. He calls me "mother" in his emails.
So I don't feel quite as bleak and childless as I did this time last year, but most of all I am more convinced than I was then that having carried and given birth to two children, having raised them (although not as long as I would have liked), I am STILL a mother, even if they're not here. If they'd emigrated, I'd still be a mother, wouldn't I?
If there any other bereaved parents reading this, the same goes for you too. We are still parents, and we mothers are still mothers.
Well, I'm trying to be brave, and I don't know how Sunday will pan out (if you're reading this from other countries you may be confused as the dates may be different, but here in the UK, this coming Sunday is Mothering Sunday). I will avoid getting unnecessarily miserable--I probably won't go to church, we won't eat out (despite so many restaurants offering free meals for Mothers!), and hopefully I won't even need to leave the house, because seeing other mothers still with their children would be stretching my grace limit. But for the moment, this is how I'm feeling:
If she'd moved to Australia,
Gone to emigrate
I'd still think at Mother's Day
That I could celebrate;
If he'd joined the navy
And gone far away
Though he was absent
It would still be my day;
Even if my children are gone
Where they cannot be seen
Though it feels so very wrong
Yet I'm still their mum.
So this year, on mothering Sunday
As much as my heart is in pain
I think I'll work on remembering,
Despite all, I'm a mum, it's plain.
(Brave words! Let's see what happens
On Sunday night it will be clear
Whether I've held onto these thoughts
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seeing other mothers still with their children would be stretching my grace limit.
ReplyDeleteGosh I identify with that Abi
I survived by hiding at home!!
Love lynn