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Guest post: Mother's Day - "I buy a card that will never be opened"

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MumsnetGuestPosts · 04/03/2016 11:44

"I'm having twin girls." I screamed excitedly down the phone, knowing that my mother would be the person just as excited as I was at that moment. Similarly, my first instinct, as soon as I'd found out I was pregnant, had been to tell her - even before I told my husband. No matter how old I was, it was always my mother who I went to with news. If I needed advice, I went to her.

Her first granddaughters were born in June 2013, four and a half years after the birth of my son. The girls were honeymoon babies after our wedding the previous September. Our lives felt perfect, and like there was nothing else we could wish for. We took them home to complete our family, and my parents were there, waiting with our son Charlie. I was on top of the world, wholly unaware that life was about to come crashing down around us.

Cancer.

Three and a half week after the girls were born, this word barged its way into our lives and pressed the destruct button. My 58-year-old, fit and healthy mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. She was given six months to live.

While we grappled with the news that none of us could have seen coming, we felt lost. No one knew where to turn. The one person who always fixed everything for us all, the one person who put us back in line - she was the one who was crumbling away.

As a child, you think your parents are indestructible. I had always seen my mother as a woman who seemed to be able to fix things, sort things out, and make everything somehow better. She was my hero; and superheroes don't die do they? I'd never thought about her dying. Old people died, but she wasn't old - she was strong. Cancer, I learned, doesn't care.

I wanted to convince myself that she would be fine. Of course she would be fine. I created fairy tales in my head, imagining that everything would be okay. But there was no happy ending and, 22 months on, I am still feeling the painful aftershocks of my mother's death.

Something pops into my head that I need to ask her about every day. The smallest things remind me of her. Sometimes, I just long to speak to her. I often wonder what she would make of the girls now. They were 10 months old when she passed away and I know that the pain of knowing she wouldn't see them grow up was gut-wrenching for her.

I haven't just lost my mother, I feel like I've lost part of our past and future. Gone are all her memories that I never got to know about, gone are all the answers she never got to tell me. The future is shaped so differently now. The first days of school, teenage tantrums, university, engagements, weddings - she won't be a part of them. We set one less place at the table now on Christmas, at celebrations, for birthdays; and it's still hard to accept that she is never coming back. There will never be one more phone call, one more joke, one more hug - there will be no more memories that we make together.

When I realise the enormity that her death has left, I ache. My heart aches. The lump returns to my throat and tears again fall at the finality and cruelty of death.

Mother's Day, like birthdays and anniversaries, is incredibly hard. Card shops brim with 'Best Mum' paraphernalia, bunches and bunches of flowers are carried proudly out of the shops - but I carry mine to a grave. I buy a card that will never be opened and write words that will never be read. I shouldn't be taking a card and flowers to a graveside. My babies should be bounding through the door and proudly handing their handmade creations to their beloved granny. They should not be standing in a cemetery, looking at a gravestone.

On Mother's Day, there will be so many families feeling loss - and there will be those who have lost touched with loved ones or no longer speak to relatives. There will be mothers who don't have their children in their arms and ones that dream one day that they will get a card bearing that very special title. We never know how quickly things might slip away. This Mother's Day, I will be treasuring what I have.

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user1464346912 · 29/05/2016 13:24

What a wonderful piece of writing, I'm crying as I write this in response. I too have written about such things and continue to do so. I lost my own mother when I was six, she was twenty-five and died having twin girls who also died. I ended up looking after my younger sister. The loss has permeated through every single aspect of my life, shaping and sharpening my talents, my creative flare, my ambitions, career, marriage, motherhood and beyond. Now I am a Grandmother ( A 72 yr 'young' one ) to twin girls and I love them more than they will ever understand. My three girls have had all that I never had, all my 'missings' have never been a part of their lives I made sure of that.
The smallest things can still send me into floods of tears. I've never written a Mother's Day card in my life and it still upsets me. I thought for a long time that I shouldn't be feeling like this now I am older but it makes no difference, age is not a factor that smooths over our innermost feelings, they are just as strong as they ever were.
I lost my partner/husband nearly five years ago, we had been together for almost fifty years. I miss him but it is an altogether different kind of loss and it doesn't affect me in the same way. I have come to the conclusion that the the mother child bond is the strongest love of all and I would agree having experienced both.
If anything has helped it has been the three books by Hope Edelman, I have all of them and I've read them over and over. I strongly recommend them to anyone going through this long journey of loss. They are -
"Motherless Daughters - The legacy of loss."
"Motherless Mothers." ( All 3 available on Amazon)
"Letters from- Motherless Daughters"
After reading these I knew I was by no means alone and just the fact of understanding that there are so many of us women grappling with such deep emotions and personal distress, sometimes feeling hopeless and helpless, well the books were just a little comfort to me. It is such a shame that people don't talk openly and frankly about such things, it is good to read so much about this subject on-line. I always felt embarrassed mentioning it after so many years had passed. I don't any more and try to listen whenever I feel I can help.
What a blessing this site is in providing a place where the views and experiences of so many can be expressed. Keep up the good work, it certainly helps to share. (Sheila )