My Other Mothers

Mothers day 2014 is approaching. My first ever mothers day without my mam. A lot of people may think I would be incredibly sad around this time, and in some ways I am. But it is a different kind of sadness to what I have been through in the last year. It is not a crippling, disabling sadness but an appreciative sadness.  This blog post is less about remembering my own mother, and more about other people’s mams. The mams that have helped me through.

I can say with resounding faith that this mothers day will undoubtedly be better than last year. Mothers day 2013 was when it all really sunk in for me, and I think for my mam too. Mothers day 2013 was the first time I saw my mother sedated. That in itself was terrifying. I spent the day alternating between pleadingly circling the bed, throwing up in the toilet and crying my eyes out begging her “Please not on mother’s day mam, please don’t go today”. It was a selfish association of course, and I can almost laugh now that looking back I was so fraught that my biggest concern was that if she died on mothers day, it would be ruined forever.  Whilst that was understandably a devastating time for me, it was also a complete eye-opener. Because I began to take notice of the tribe of wonderful women that I like to call my ‘other mothers’.

These same women who stood around my mother’s bedside, and indeed, around me, formed a strange sort of shield during my most difficult times. They held me up when I could no longer hold myself, and they stepped in when I was just too tired to be positive for my own mam anymore. Together, we mothered each other, and I learned so much more about my mam in her final months from precious stories and memories of her. Memories I would never have. First came the ‘officials’. Sisters of my mother who were always there for every visit, who lumped my washing back and forth their houses, ironed bedding upon bedding, and did the simple things like forcibly restraining me to shove sandwiches or some form of sustenance into my mouth.  They held strong even though it was their baby sister, a sister they’d nursed in her earlier life and ironically had to learn to care for again. Now, after her death, “the professional” or, Auntie Kath continues to be one of my main supporters.  In my mother’s absence, she has become my confidant. If I have a decision to be made, I can always go to her. I know she will listen to me with respect and give me the best guidance she can with no judgement. I am never afraid to be myself or to tell her my feelings, because she has never shown anything other than 100% faith in me. We limp along, she and I, and we lift each other on the days we’re not quite ourselves.

Then there’s “the crazy”.  Not meant in any way offensively, but anyone who knows my Auntie Chris knows I speak the truth. Auntie Kath is a bit more reserved than her, and if there’s one thing my mother wasn’t, it’s reserved (Ha!). And so, on the days when I need a crazy flavour, that wonderfully wild streak that my mother had, I go to Auntie Chris, and her daughter,  Joanna. I may not see them as much, but I do not need to live in their pockets to know that I always have a welcome and a best friend in both of them.  Wherever my officials are, I have a home, and I don’t feel quite so much like an orphan anymore.

 And then of course, there were the “unofficials”, who may as well have moved in with me. My mother’s closest and most treasured friends; Anne, Debbie and Wendy, Auntie Jan and Auntie Adele.  These women showed me the strength of female friendship. When I consider now, what I would do if I were to see one of my closest and most treasured friends terminally ill, I don’t know how any of them ever came to my house or the hospital with a smile. But they always did. They showed me that my mother must have been a great friend in her time, because their dedication to her care was boundless. They always brought the sunshine into her little hospital rooms, and the sweets and the magazines (Integral to visits, of course). They had no obligation to my mother, or to her family, but they came anyway.  It would have been very easy for them to say “thanks very much, but I would rather keep the memories of your mam as I knew her when she was fit and well”.  My mother often spoke so fondly about her best friends, and even when she was very low she still had room to worry about them. “Something’s wrong with our Debbie”, she’d say, and do the ominous peer over her glasses which told everyone Anny-O was on the case, and don’t you forget it! And I see now that it was just one giant circle, and that when I was born, and my sister too, I was introduced into that circle. They loved me and supported me because I was a part of her.  So thank you ladies, for bringing the light.

Then of course, there are the people who I never expected to be my other mothers. Those who were not friends of my mothers from birth, but who came to know me and came to love me and think of me as their own.  There are two distinct women in this category for me, and both women have helped me in ways that they will never realise. Lynette, thank you for being everything a mammy should be.  Thank you for always checking that I was okay, for holding my hand and for always having that inner radar good mammies have for when I wasn’t exactly telling the truth about how I felt. You opened your home and your family to me, and you gave me stability in a time when I didn’t feel all that put together at all.

Secondly, Viv. I don’t know if you ever knew how much of a support you were to me, through my mother’s illness or through her death. I cannot count on one hand the times we sat in your kitchen, you supplied me with a glass of wine and let me rant about god knows what, just to get it all out.  You were there through it all, and your lovely house was my escape. It was always a haven of calm and comfort in my otherwise bonkers life.  I think my mam was even a bit jealous of you in the beginning, but in the end she was as endeared to you as I was, and she often said how grateful she was that she knew when I was out of my house and in someone else’s, I had a mammy number 2 who would make sure I was on the straight and narrow – without any messing! Sometimes I think we are a lot alike, you and I, and you have been a massive inspiration to me and an even bigger comfort. You are a brilliant example of how sometimes, life does not deal you the best cards, but that with the right attitude and the right support, you can come through something that really is very ugly. You gave me my ‘go get ‘em’ attitude. You never pressurised me to talk about my feelings but I always knew and still know now that you would be there in a shot if I had a problem. You showed me what it was to be a truly good person.

Last but not least, the person I never thought would have to be a mother to me: my lovely papa. Dad, when I think of how far you’ve come in the last year I could cry my eyes out. If anyone has had the most change thrust upon them, it has been you. When you married my mam, you married for life. You never expected to be on your own again mid 50s, and a single parent.  We’ve become so close you and I, and things that I once would never have dreamed about telling you about, now become so easy to talk about. We’re a team hen we get along. In the game of “parent a 15 year old”, we’ve become a bit of a duo. I hope when you look at me you’re really proud, because that’s all you ever make me want to do is show you how well you did and what a brilliant parent you are. Thank you for always being honest with me, even when it hurt, but for never really saying I told you so.  For just being there and knowing that I’m still not too old for a hug off my daddy.  Yes, I do still sit on your lap and I will continue to do so until my arse is too fat or your knees give way. Whichever comes first, really.  We’re only going to get closer Dad, and I can’t wait for you to get even grouchier as the years go on so I can antagonise you a bit more and we can laugh after we’ve had our 5 minute screaming argument and realised how similar we are.

And one more. Ellie. Ellie?! How can my little sister be a mother to me. Well, kiddo, I think it’s safe to say we mother each other, don’t we? Thank you mostly for being a precocious little bugger, because I don’t think anyone makes me laugh as much as you (Or cry with frustration, actually).  You make me laugh the most when you come home from school to find me sniffling in your bed, or when I creep into your room and you just roll your eyes and lift up the quilt in a way that says “get in loser”.  You’re my bestest friend in the whole wide world, you are. And I’m so proud of you every day.  Even when you leave my washing in the machine so it smells damp, and when you leave your glasses on the side and not in the…sorry. Got carried away.

Whoever you are and however you’ve mothered me. Thank you for showing me what it is to be a wonderful woman, friend, or parent.

You’re all wonderful creatures J