Being Mum without a Mum…

Last week would have been my Mum’s 65th Birthday. A huge milestone, a big celebration, and by all intense of purposes her last few weeks at work, having worked since the age of 18. She would have been over the moon to have earned that badge of honour. A pensioner. A retired pensioner enjoying her well earned break. She should have been celebrating collecting her official state pension, enjoying her retirement, planning her next holiday, and most likely we would have been arranging a fancy meal or family party to celebrate her coming of age. Sadly she never got to do that. Cruelly my Mum was taken too soon and we lost her to breast cancer in 2014.

Being a Mum without a Mum is hard to explain, but something that I am sure all too many people can relate to.

Whenever I think of my Mum I do so with a smile, and generally don’t feel melancholy or grieve in the way that might be expected. We had a wonderful relationship- we were extremely close, spoke every day and I saw her two or three times a week every week without fail. We shared the good times and bad, the happy and sad, and she was there to support me pretty much every step of the way. I know how lucky I am to have had such a special relationship, and to have had 30 solid years together, so I feel I have no right to complain that she is no longer by my side. But some days, like today, I feel sad, and sometimes angry that she isn’t here, that she was chosen over somebody else, and that whilst others can have their mother’s words of wisdom and support, that I have to guess what she might have said had she still been with us.

If she was still here, there are so many questions I want to ask, things I wish I’d known, pearls of wisdom I wish I could elicit.

I would apologise for being such a stubborn picky eater as a child. I must have pushed her to the edge of insanity, and now, by karma perhaps, I am experiencing it now with my own daughter. The tables have turned and now I am the one sobbing in frustration.

I would go on a huge shopping day together – even though Mum’s legs were about a foot longer than mine and as such she was always walking a few steps in front, I miss our shopping sessions. I miss being dragged around Per Una whilst Mum tried on a variety of knitted jumpers, many of which looked incredibly similar to ones she already owned. I miss going our separate ways before meeting at a pre-determined time – her usually armed with a bag which when I asked what it contained she’d say “you wont like it but….”.

I’d sit and snuggle under a cosy blanket and watch trash TV – this is how we’d spend our Friday nights when I still lived at home -watching Long Lost Family and laughing at each other’s faces when the sobbing started.

I’d tell her off for doing my washing up every time she came to visit, despite being secretly grateful that she’d saved me a job.

I would thank her for her nagging, something which used to drive me insane. I would thank her for reminding me to go the dentist, for making sure I’d booked my MOT, for making sure I’d done all the things that otherwise fell down the prority list and got forgotten.

Mum was there for the birth of Erin, and was the first person to hold her and announce her gender – the best gift I could have ever given. I am thankful in a way that Neve was born by caesarean, as even if Mum had been here, she wouldn’t have been allowed in the room (limited to one birthing partner). This made her absence somewhat easier to bear.

Those first scans, first crawls and first steps – I am sad that she has missed them all. She would have loved holding Neve whilst Erin tried to climb up her leg, both girls vying for her attention, as the Nanny cuddles would have been in high demand.

I miss The Mary Poppins moments – when she would swoop in when I was at my lowest and miraculously fix everything before returning to the comfort of her own home just as quickly as she had arrived. She always had the right words, the way of snapping me out of a unnecessary mard, a way of making me see the bigger picture, or bringing be back to reality if I got slightly carried away.

The words of wisdom, the insights from her own experiences, and her simple exclamations of “come on darling” were an amazing comfort. When I was in hospital with sepsis, I missed those words a lot. My Dad was amazing and did everything he could, but in times like that, you simply need your Mum.

I’d ask Mum what she thought of the blog. This sounds daft, but if there was one person I could always rely on to be an avid subscriber to my blog it was Mum. She set up email alerts, and 9 times out of 10 would have commented on a post within a few seconds of me pressing publish. She would like, she would comment, and she would do everything in her power to support me in my dream of having ‘my own little website’. She would be so proud of how far it has come since those early days when she came along to The Baby Show and helped me pitch my concept to Joie. I think she secretly enjoyed the challenge as much as me.

I’d have no trouble keeping Mum away from the school run. Mum would have loved to have been waiting at the school gates for Erin to come running out to greet her. She would have got there early, as always, and paced up and down for at least 15 minutes earlier than necessary. She would have skipped, jumped over the cracks and played eye spy on the way home, bringing out her inner child and creating laughter at every single step. I watch my Mother and Father in law do the same with a combination of warm pride and intense jealousy. I know just how lucky we are to have them, and it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside to see Erin’s Granddad so excited at the prospect of meeting her at the school gates and walking home with her hand in hand. It’s fantastic, its a wonderful gift for them, but it hurts. I wish my Mum had been blessed with the same relationship.

Erin has grown up always knowing about her Nanny, and occasionally she will ask me about her or pick up her photo and tell me that Nanny is in heaven with Rosco (Daddy’s dog!). I don’t know what my real belief is regarding what happens next, but I hope that somehow, somewhere she can be keeping an eye on us all! 🙂

Being Mum without a Mum is hard, but every day I become a little bit more like her. She lives on in me, and my approach to motherhood is shaped by hers, every single day.

If I am as close to my girls as I was to her, then I know I will have done her proud. Teaching me what it is like to be a Mum is the best gift she gave me. Thank you Mum! 🙂

Lucy x