Happy Mother’s Day to you from the UK.
I’d like to dedicate those flowers not only to all the Mums, but to all the women who are mothers of neverborn children, women who really want to be mothers and can’t, mothers whose child is still growing inside them, mothers who are capable and who have everything organised and mothers who have their sanity hanging by a thread and are driven to distraction by their life and family, mothers who’ve spent the day with their children, mothers who’ve not seen their children and missed them terribly, mothers who don’t know where their children are and mothers whose children just won’t leave.
I feel as though I’ve had a 4 tier experience of Mothers Day now (particularly with regard to the Mothers Day service at church). As a child, it was a wonderful day where I got to make a bunch of flowers and take it to my smiling Mum, then gleefully donate all the (far inferior, to my eyes) bunches of flowers to all the other women in the congregation. As a young adult, I had the discomfort of being handed a bunch of flowers by some reckless child, not sure whether I should accept them because, well, I was clearly no-one’s mother and didn’t feel enough of a woman to merit them. As a newly married woman with all the excitement and anticipation of starting a family (but only when we were good and ready and we had decided the right time, fie on us) I loved receiving them and was able to look benevolently on the small, sweet child who brought them and think “one day…”
Today as a married woman who’s had one neverborn child (miscarriage is such an ugly word) and who, with her beloved Husby, may have only a 3 month window within which to conceive before necessary medical treatment introduces irreversable infertility, I thought today would be far, far harder than it was.
I was able to face the thought of the Mothers Day service quite cheerfully, and said a silent hurray when ‘mothers who’ve lost children’ were included in the prayers. I accepted my bunch of 3 daffodils and a bit of green stuff with a smile (though I put it down pretty quickly) and had a really helpful chat with a lady who’s gone through multiple miscarriages between the births of her two children, who told me that no, it doesn’t get loads easier, but life provides suitable distractions and you can focus on those instead.
So I did. We had friends round to our new flat for a standing-up-in-the-kitchen snacky lunch, then went to the ever lovely Hilliers Arboretum for a Mother’s Day celebration with my wonderful Mum and lovely Sis (and Niece and Neff, who were high as kites and twice as energetic).
I’ve been hugged, kissed and climbed on by children, been able to hug and kiss my Mum and, you know what? I think I’m just about OK. I have the comfort of knowing that by hook or by crook, I will be a mother one day, and will add a joyful 5th tier to my Mother’s Day experience. That it’s not today, well, that’s OK too.