Mothering Sunday has always been especially significant for me as I was born in the early hours of Mothering Sunday. Throughout my childhood, my Mum loved to describe how special it felt having a baby on this day.
Mothers’ Day was also special because this was the one day in the year where we could make it all about Mum. There weren’t that many opportunities to make things all about her because she was one of those rare people who genuinely really just spent her life giving to others and who was in her element taking care of the people she loved. She was of the school of thought that if you loved something or someone enough, whatever the difficulties, it would turn out okay in the end. And she never wanted anything for herself except sometimes animals which she bargained with my Dad, “You can have a new car if I can get three chickens!”.
Some time ago, I rediscovered this sweet letter written from Fairy Twinkle (named by my Dad I believe, but the letters were written by Mum). I actually have a vague recollection of receiving this letter for the first time. Revisiting her carefully crafted words sparked so much love along with many other precious memories of my kind Mum: the treasure hunts which she would carefully set up for my sister and I in the garden, and the incredible themed birthday parties that she made. They were so exceptional that people mention them still now fifty years later. I remember too, the fun quiz sheets that she drew for my children where they could tick off certain vegetables if they found them in the dinners she had lovingly prepared (3 peas, 2 carrots anyone?), and the animal themed dinners she would make for them and direct my slightly long-suffering Dad to help set up. The sheep dinner with sheep ornaments and farm decorations stands out in my recollections! Quirky, fun and full of love – she really was endlessly patient, creative and kind.
Her commitment to children extended to her work too and I remember her many times staying up all night on holiday reading and annotating documents to ensure that a child she was supporting received the support she knew they needed. And when she became a grandma she came into her own even more. I have an enduring image of her early morning arrival in the darkest days of winter to take care of my children. Time keeping wasn’t a strength or hers (although she was never late for family) and so she rarely had time to dry her hair and it was often sopping wet. But however cold and wet she must have been, when she arrived there was always a big beam on her face. She adored the children and they adored her too.
Four years have now passed since the loss of my mum, and since then Mothers’ Day has taken on a particular poignancy, as I have found myself oscillating between the love and gratitude of remembering what I had and the overwhelming sense of grief.
Yet, this year I somehow wake today feeling her presence around me more clearly as a constant love and support rather than as a reminder of the loss which has weighed so heavily. I feel the love she poured in show up in so many ways and I carry her with me always. Whether it is in the kindness of my eldest or the eyes of my youngest, or in my own desire to write notes to my own children with little animal doodles, or finding joy in spotting ladybirds (her lucky creature). To say she is missed would be an understatement but her legacy of love lives on…
