It’s funny, growing up I don’t remember there ever being too much of a ta-doo about Mother’s Day. My mum wasn’t much for making a ta-doo about anything really. Understated and modest, she was the kind of woman that on reflection, did herself an injustice – sometimes a ta-doo is needed.
So why, since her death so many years ago, do I find Mother’s Day unsettling? I’m definitely not alone, many people do – there are those like me, whose mothers have died, or those who wish their mothers were dead. There are those who long to be a mother as well as those who have lost children.
Maybe it’s because Mother’s Day falls at seeding time on the farm, when it’s all systems go and Mr Hooch is nary to be seen, let alone help the kids coordinate a ta-doo?
Maybe it’s Covid that reared it’s ugly head and left me rendered useless for the best part of this week?
Maybe it’s the expectation of a harmonious, sunshiny, love filled day where the children magically morph into intuitive little cherub-like angels who want nothing more than to pamper and glorify their giver of life?
Maybe it’s the Mother’s Day hype that’s splashed around the online and offline world?
Maybe it’s nothing? Maybe it’s everything?
Never-the-less, I’m not able to to spend the day with my mum, send her a card or give her a call, but what I can do, is thank the women who have filled the gaps and have been the mother-figures and friends I’ve needed.
So thank you to the listeners – the ones who debriefed, picked apart and overanalysed with me; the ones who have “kept shit real” and made me laugh when times were tough; the fixer-uppers; the crazy ones; the thoughtful ones; the dependable “always there” ones; the ride and die ones; the older ones who have trekked the path of life ahead of me and shown me where the pot-holes are; the younger ones who keep me on my toes: the wise ones; the ones who have challenged me; the ones who make me a better me. A special mention must go to my mother-in-law – a generous spirit with gold standard Grannying and even better sausage rolls.
I want to especially thank the ones who every year, without fail, acknowledge my mum on Mother’s Day. The ones who still speak her name, who check in, call and remind me that they know being a motherless mother on Mother’s Day can sometimes be a bitter-sweet pill to swallow.
So thank you to my “mums” for filling the void in the most beautiful ways.
Happy Mother’s Day, you deserve a ta-doo.
M
A couple of weeks ago, I tripped up a step and landed like a drunk hippo. There was no time to prepare for this “fall”. No warning, no tripity trip weird little arm-flailing dance before my demise. It was harsh and quick, and not in a pleasant way. I fell smack bang in my driveway. My knees are still recovering and I’m grateful that the school bus full of kids at the end of the driveway didn’t witness my demise.
