Mothering Without Your Mother

There are certain days of the year that hit harder than others.

Mother’s Day is one of them.

For many people it’s a day filled with flowers, cards, breakfast in bed and family photos. But for some of us it comes with a kind of heartbreak that not many people talk about.

Because some of us are mothers…

without our mothers.

I grew up incredibly close to my mum, she wasn’t just my mother, she was my best friend. The person I told everything to, the person I called when something good or bad happened and usually for no reason at all.

I can count on one hand the amount of times we argued in my life, she was just my person.

And then everything changed, I remember it like it was yesterday, she went into hospital for what she thought was a routine gall bladder operation. Something simple that would be sorted easily and then we would move on from it.

Instead she came home with news that none of us could have prepared for. She had cancer, but not just cancer,  cancer everywhere.

I will never forget the moment she collapsed onto her knees in front of me and sobbed in my lap that she was going to die, it is a moment that will stay with me forever.

A few weeks later she was gone.

At the time I knew I was heartbroken and I knew that I would miss her every single day of my life but what I didn’t realise then was just how much I would miss her as my life started to grow.

As I’m writing this now it’s the 11th March 2026, twelve years to the day since she passed away and although i can say that it does get easier, in the respect that i can talk about her with a smile on my face instead of just tears and i can look back on memories of her with fondness instead of sadness.

But there is one thing that still hits me harder than anything else, being a mother without my mother.

I met my husband Bug the Christmas after she died. So she never got to meet him, she never got to see that I found the right person and she never got to see that I got married.

And I think about that often… does she know?

As a mother myself now I realise how much peace it would have given her to know that I had met such a good man after some previous not-so-good situations, to know that I was safe and that I was loved.

One thing I am certain of though is that she would have loved him and I’m pretty sure he would have been very fond of her too.

Sometimes when I’m with my in-laws on family holidays or on days out, I imagine how she would have fit into all of it. I can picture her there on the beach with us, laughing at the chaos of family life.

She had a way about her and people seemed to be naturally drawn to her, there weren’t many people who met her and didn’t love her.

Even now, all these years later, there are moments where something happens and my first instinct is to reach for my phone to call her. It was years before I stopped automatically picking up my phone before remembering that was something I couldn't do anymore.

And then came the part of life where I missed her the most.

My children. 

The first time you think you might be pregnant, taking that pregnancy test and seeing those two lines appear. The scans, the excitement, picking names, buying tiny clothes and holding that beautiful little baby for the first time.

Not being able to share any of that with her was excruciating and with every baby that came after him I felt it again, that space where she should have been.

Even now on events like Christmases, birthdays, milestones and  medical appointments - all of it.

All the moments when you just want to pick up the phone and say “mum, you won’t believe what happened today.”

But there is another part of motherhood that made me understand my mum in a way I couldn’t back then.

The fear, the kind of crippling fear that only really comes when you become a parent yourself, it's the fear of not being there for your own children.

The thought of not seeing them grow up or seeing their kids, of missing their milestones and of leaving them before you’re ready.

It’s a thought that creeps in sometimes when I least expect it, especially in hospital waiting rooms and during medical appointments and especially during the moments that come with parenting a child who walks a slightly different path.

Sitting there hearing medical terms you never expected to hear as a parent whilst trying to stay strong and process it all. Trying to be the steady one for your family.

And in those moments I sometimes find myself wondering…Is this what she felt?

That deep, overwhelming fear of leaving your child behind, because now that I am a mother myself, I think I understand something that I didn’t back then.

Maybe the thing that broke her heart the most wasn’t leaving the world, maybe it was leaving us.

More often than not I catch myself wondering what it would have been like if she was here, what her face would have looked like the first time she held my babies, what she would have wanted them to call her and how she would have been with them.

When I see her friends becoming grandparents, I can’t help but imagine what it would have been like to see her there with them, I know she would have loved it.

But I know for sure that my children will grow up knowing all about her - they will know her stories and the kind of person she was.

My eldest daughter carries her name as a middle name, just as she will always be carried in my heart.

If you are going through this, whether it’s coming up to your first Mother’s Day without your mum or your fiftieth, I just want you to know something.

I see you.

It’s a pain you only truly understand when you have lived it and it’s a club none of us ever wanted to be part of, but you are not alone.

So to every mother navigating this day without her own mum beside her, I am sending you so much love.

From me to you, Happy Mother’s Day.

And Mum…

This one’s for you.