My first Mother’s Day without my Mum wasn’t any sadder for me than any day in the last few months. I didn’t really think it would be, because in my experience grief doesn’t really work like that. A good friend told me it isn’t easy to know how to grieve. I think that’s very true, and that sometimes people expect you to grieve in certain ways and at certain times, and it doesn’t always follow.
I had a small wobble on Friday as opted out of Interflora’s email reminder system for Mother’s Day, which annoyed me as I know my mum found the commercial side of Mother’s Day completely bemusing.
Perhaps it helped that we spent Mother’s Day on a campsite. It reminded me of the things that I enjoy best about being a mum, the things that my mum enjoyed too. Being outdoors, playing in the sun, chasing chickens, tickling cats, waiting expectantly by rabbit holes, fishing with sticks, spying wildflowers, collecting stones and feathers and making pretend campfires. My mum taught me to love nature and I am passing that lesson on.
I can’t watch my children and not think of me and my little brother, we share the same birth order, the same age gap. I watched my two play and thought about all the fun we had with mum. While they were busy playing I picked some tiny wild flowers in her memory.
Then we returned to the caravan to a fry up cooked by Mr A.
It was good to have a little bit of time and space to reflect on Sunday. And to find a way to feel close to my family and my mum away from the hype. As we drove back into suburbia there were lots of families spilling out of restaurants, all dressed up, carrying helium balloons and bouquets. Maybe another year I’ll be up for that, but this year simple was perfect.