Mother’s Day Without Her

It’s a very different Mother’s Day this year. I’ve had this sort of anxiety the past few days. Nothing big or significant. Nothing I can specifically pinpoint. Just this little simmering underneath the surface. It’s in my physical body. If I could give it a shape and colour, I would say a golfball shape in a dark shade of grey. Sometimes I feel it in the pit of my belly and other times I feel it in my chest. My heart.

It’s my first Mother’s Day without her. My mum.

It comes with a tinge of sadness. The grief is still moving through me, as we close in on the first anniversary of her passing. Life is moving forward beautifully and I’m so fortunate and grateful, with everything that I have and everything that’s coming. But still I know the grief is there. She sits there and she’s been a gift, as she’s made me a far better therapist. A far better mother. A far better person. She’s taught me a depth of compassion and understanding that I didn’t think possible.

The past few days have brought on a cleansing of sorts. A finalisation of letting go of the last remnants of things from my past, that I still was connected to, in one way or another, but are no longer part of my life. A reminder that some things just need to be fully untethered. Gently released, with love and kindness, into the universe, to land where they are destined to go. Loss has a way of making you reflect introspectively.

Some days are just harder than others. And the past few days have been tinged with challenging moments, as I navigate yet another special moment without her. It’s to be expected. And I accept the normality of these moments.

It was also a day of such love, with my own kids and my littlest love, my granddaughter. It’s my daughters very first mothers day. Which is exciting and beautiful. Yet the grey golfball, still sits there. Quietly and without much fuss or fanfare. But it’s there. Just enough for me to know, I’m missing something. A part of me is missing. That there’s a loss within me, that cannot be filled. But it’s okay. And I understand with love, there will always be some loss.

It’s a process. And there are many of us that know this loss. We’ve felt the love today, but we’ve also felt that missing bit. Whilst those lucky souls amongst us enjoyed the day with their mum, the rest of us found a moment to mourn what we no longer have, but also to feel the gratitude of what we do have.

So as I reflect on my day, I shed those tears that have been waiting patiently, all day, to fall. Not because I didn’t enjoy my day, as I did, I had a lovely day. Not because I’m unhappy, as I’m happy with all parts of my life. But because I miss her. Because I wish I could sit with her, talk with her and laugh with her one more time. Because I grieve not having my mum to share life with.

It’s a privilege to be a mother. An honour to have two incredible humans call me mum. And an honourable privilege to be the daughter of the woman, who birthed me, raised me, loved me and supported me.

Happy Mothers Day mum x