Skip to main content

Mothers' Day Blues

I have found Mothers' Day hard before, trying to hold in tension my gratitude for the beautiful children I have and my sadness for the one I didn't get to keep.  It is a day countless others find hard too.  

This year feels like a whole new level of struggle is looming as I must face yet another difficult day, where my raw emotions will be dragged to the surface and shaken and beaten just a little more. It is six months since my sister passed away; Mothers' Day without her is another hard 'first'.  This time last year we had no idea our worlds were about to implode.  She was diagnosed a week later.  Writing this poem has helped me to face it better.  It is not a cry for pity or a judgment on those celebrating - just a pure reflection of my thoughts and emotions as I continue to walk this road of grief.  I hope it will make fellow strugglers feel less alone.

Thanks for reading!

Mothers' Day  

Last year, 
My sister took the early slot, 
Taking flowers and chocolates to Mum,
Mid afternoon,
Chatting casually 
Over coffee,
A Mothers' Day like any other.
Her words scrawled in the card,
One of many down the years,
A relic now.
I went later,
With a now-forgotten gift,
For a glass of wine
and child-free conversation,
A luxury.

This year it's just me.
I can never be enough,
Feel enough, write enough,
Say enough, do enough,
To plug the gaping hole now left,
One we hadn't even seen coming then,
That ordinary Mothers' Day last year.

Mothers' Day looms.
I've survived it before,
The times it has threatened to suffocate me,
As a Mother, minus a child,
Taken too soon.
I've learned to live with that.

This time round I have a Mother and a child - two, in fact.
But Mothers' Day threatens to swallow me whole in a different way,
As I face my own Mother,
With one child less and a pain 
No gift from me can dull.

And it threatens to swallow me whole 
When my niece crawls onto my lap 
Motherless,
Adapting, adjusting,
But with parts missing that will never be whole.
I cry as I imagine her,
Surrounded by classmates,
Gluing tissue paper to make-shift bouquets,
Wondering in her six-year old way 
If Mummy still sees,
Somewhere out beyond the stars.

Mothers' Day.
I've learned to live with the pain
And the kick-in-the-teeth, 
It doles out, once a year,
Learned to count up the blessings as well as the cost.
Countless armies of others join me,
Teeth gritted through Facebook outpourings.
I'm not on my own.

But this year, 
Is harder than ever.
I lock my hands for the ride,
in the tightest of grips
As the Mothers' Day rollercoaster plummets again,
Wondering if anyone will hear my screams.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Happy Birthday, Dearest Bec

Dearest Bec I can’t believe it’s your birthday and you are not here.  Every year, I rush into town, straight after Christmas, to hit the sales and buy you something you don’t really need – not your fault you were born straight after Christmas and, after all, every girl always needs more earrings, notepads, belts, recipe books.  I can’t even remember what I bought you last year, as it was such an ‘ordinary’ thing – It didn’t feel momentous or unusual, just a sister, giving her little sister her annual birthday gift. How would I have ever guessed it would be the last one I would buy for you? I’m not sure how to cope this week as, instead of eating cake together, we scatter your ashes.  I’m not sure how you continue with normal life, go to work, talk with friends, in a week like this.  I am trying to distract myself with memories filled with you, to remind myself that I will always have these, even if I no longer have you.  So here are my favourite pictures, sifted from the many

Remembering Grace Again

Remembering Grace Again Grace's 'birthday' comes around so quickly. Although it's now seven years ago, the unfolding narrative of that week still plays through my mind when the anniversary comes around. Each year is different and this year I feel further forward, more healed and whole than before. Rather than being on a roller coaster of emotion as it plays out, it feels more like watching an old cine film - a bit more distanced, with the volume turned down. Still there, still sad to watch but less painful, less debilitating. Professional support in moving forward (EMDR - a recognised and highly successful approach to dealing with trauma) has played a huge part in that and I would recommend it for anyone struggling with difficult, traumatic memories. The journey and ups and downs of this year are too much and too personal to write about in detail here, but I am always happy to talk further with anyone who wants to know more. Facing and dealing with traum

Easter Saturday Living; Waiting for Sunday to Come

Easter Sunday; a strange thought this year. Celebrating the impermanence of death when it feels permanent and heavy right now to those of us left here, in her wake. Celebrating hope, light and victory when those things still feel a long way away on the hard days and the dark days, when grief wraps its bindweed more tightly. Celebrating a God for whom nothing is impossible, yet we did not see our impossible become possible. Joining in with dancing and joy when tears are more my currency. It's easier to face Good Friday. I can relate to a tortured and suffering saviour. He gets it. He's walking it with me. I dwell comfortably in Easter Saturday when hope lay dormant and sadness took hold. I belong with the exhausted disciples and the women overcome with emotion and grief. I'm not at all sure I am ready for Easter Sunday. Dancing, rejoicing, all-things-come-good. I will stand there one day, feeling it more convincingly.  But for now my life is Friday-Saturday