Mother's Day

I was extremely fortunate to be with my mum when she died. My sister had sat up all night with her while I went home for a rest. Very early the next morning I returned to the hospital  and we swapped, she popped out for some fresh air.  I listened to my mum’s breathing, I knew something was changing. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ the health care assistant called into the room  and I, probably rudely, said ‘Not now, she’s dying’,  and moments later she did. My sister returned, realised what had happened. We opened the window and sang for our mum, ‘Some bright morning, when this life is over, I’ll fly away…’

 That was over 12 years ago. Not a day passes that I don’t think of my mum. It’s not in sad way, I wouldn’t call it grieving, it’s remembering. I carry her with me in so many small ways: how I rest my head in my curled fist whilst studying the crossword over breakfast,  in the quiet joy I feel poking at a late afternoon autumn bonfire, mostly and always when I immerse myself in a chilly river or  lie back and float in the vast sea.  She showed me these pleasures, and they connect me to her. She also gave me an inability to leave the house without a last minute wee….or ‘spending  a penny’ as she called it.

It’s not till we become mothers ourselves that we begin to have an inkling of what our mother did for us; the tedium of relentless daily repetitive acts of care and nurture (if we are lucky), the sleepless nights (from crying babies or anxiety provoking teens), being stretched to our limits emotionally and physically and then being stretched even further.

There’s fun too,  bankable moments of love and joy that you draw on through the harder times, when you are racked with guilt and feelings of inadequacy.

I met with a son recently, planning his mum’s funeral. I asked him what she was like as a mum…. His reply -  ’She was just a mum, she did the mum things’. His remark brought  to mind this quote from Middlemarch by George Elliott : “The effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts.”

I raise a toast to all mothers, executors of innumerable unhistoric acts.