A sad one today.
Today is the 19th anniversary of my Mother's death. After a 2 year battle with cancer, she slipped quietly away around 6.15am and made her journey up to heaven. I like to think of her up there with my Gran, Ginge the cat, God, Jesus and the angels, all relaxing and eating their favourite foods (no calories in heaven- woop woop) and nattering away about the good times on earth.
(This photograph of me and her sits in my lounge and watches over our family)
19 years is a really long time. Long enough to move on you might think. To an extent, you'd be right. I don't get cut up when I hear people on the phone to their Mum, I don't want to cry when I see Mothers holding their children's hands and I don't break down when I listen to my friends whinge about how hard the Mother-Daughter relationship can be. It's normal, I'm used to it.
What does eat me up is that it's Christmas and I'm a Mummy now. A Mummy to the most wonderful baby you'll ever meet, and my own Mummy won't be here to see the smile on her face when she delights in ripping open her presents, when she tastes her first piece of turkey, when she wears a colourful christmas hat from a cracker and when she falls asleep in my arms because the day has been so full of excitement and magic.
She'll never get to hold my baby in her arms and enjoy watching her grow. She won't get to spoil her like my Gran did with pocket money for sweets from the corner shop. She won't ever sing to her, tell her jokes, kiss her knee when she topples over or listen to me babble on over the phone about the new things she's done that day.
On top of the loss I feel for Darcy, I feel another layer of my own personal loss. It was hard not having her (or anyone) see me come last (haha I'm so lame at PE) in sports day. It was rough not being able to run up to her with my A-Level results in hand, saying, "I'm going to uni! I'm going to uni!", and it was heart breaking planning my wedding and living out the big day with a Mum shaped hole. But having a child and experiencing Motherhood from the other side is the hardest.
Mostly I'm fine, wrapped up in a world of baby groups, tiny pairs of tights and onsies, bottles of milk and mind numbing musical toys. But then there are they days when I'd love to call her and ask her over for a piece of cake and a chat about nothing. And I can't. I never will.
There is a poem I found a couple of years ago, by an unknown author that I think is lovely and very apt.
If Tears Could Build A Stairway
If tears could build a stairway,
and memories a lane.
I would walk right up to Heaven
and bring you back again.
No farewell words were spoken,
No time to say "Goodbye".
You were gone before I knew it,
and only God knows why.
My heart still aches with sadness,
and secret tears still flow.
What it meant to love you -
No one can ever know.
But now I know you want me
to mourn for you no more;
To remember all the happy times
life still has much in store.
Since you'll never be forgotten,
I pledge to you today~
A hollowed place within my heart
is where you'll always stay.
This little inconsequential spot on the interweb is dedicated to Diana Jane Pentland, who was and is My Mother.