Nixdminx
The life and times of a happy go lucky blogger in London
Mothers' Day – how was it for you?
Categories: blogging mums, lifestyle

Mothers’ Day is so lovely. When I was 21, I was so skint, I couldn’t afford the train fare to my Mum’s house. I walked the whole way, nicked some daffs and made a card, then turned up late but jolly and was greeted warmly with a knowing smile from my Mum. Yep, I was a bit useless, but reliably so.

My Mother always said I was like a lemming (I never quite understood that malapropism) but in her eyes, I was the loyal offspring with the homing instinct who would always turn up whatever. And I always did and I suppose always will. Because today I just had to be there, where she lived and immersed in that place where she spent her last years.

For weeks, the Mothers’ Day hype has been built up around us – card shops, chocolate shops, supermarkets, commercial emails, it’s unavoidable – it is absolutely huge.

We mourn the loss of our own lifegivers daily, but on this day of the year it could not be more poignant, especially when other families appear so complete. I feel very deeply for my friends who have recently been bereaved, for the first year without your Mother is definitely the worst. But does it ever go away? After five years, I would say not. Every year, the hurt is a little softer but the bombardment of commercial messages is unbearable. It highlights the absence of someone you love so cruelly.

I’ve had countless emails about how to ‘Spoil your Mum rotten’ or ‘Treat Her’ or ‘Discount Flowers’ or ‘Make sure it’s chocolates’. There are times when I have wanted to stand up and scream out loud:

‘MY MOTHER IS DEAD!
JUST LEAVE ME ALONE CAN’T YOU?
DO YOU THINK I NEED REMINDING ABOUT MOTHERS’ DAY??!!
GIVE ME A BREAK PLEASE….ISN’T THERE AN OPT OUT CLAUSE TO SAY I DON’T WANT EMAILS ABOUT THIS DAY???’

But of course, I haven’t, well not publicly anyway.

My Mother retired to a seaside town and took my autistic brother with her. Life was slower, more lenient on the vulnerable, plus the sea and fish and chips was very seductive to someone in her twilight years.

It seemed right that this year we would celebrate Mothers’ Day there. I don’t know what I was expecting. Shepherding a 10 year old around and a blind autistic adult is humbling to say the least but we made the most of it and had a brilliant meal on Saturday night at a great Italian restaurant near my brother’s house.

Then it was the day. Mothers’ Day. The day started out ok. We woke up early, had breakfast, went down the beach. After a knocking on a few barn doors, we found a restaurant that could seat us for lunch. I’d forgotten that restaurants got booked up – it’s been so long since I’d wanted to do anything on this particular day of the year, I felt my eyes well up as I recognised my propensity towards foolishness was fully in play.

We ate lunch, it felt right, we were together as a family and it did not feel bad. We made our toasts and while I knew we were not the happiest of tables there, we were alright though. We waved goodbye to my brother, after packing him into a taxi with his white stick and left over pizza.

Then as Miniminx and I made our way to the station to go back to London, we walked through a supposedly safe pedestrian shopping area. I was on the phone to my sister, who was sick and still in bed, and telling her about the lunch when out of nowhere, a crazy guy on a mountain bike appeared. He was a maniac on the loose and I shouted to Miniminx to get out of the way, there was no time, he hit her. He didn’t stop. He hit her! There was an uproar, not least of all from me; he span off, people screamed. She screamed, I screamed. It was horrific, like we had been attacked by a predatory prehistoric bird – how on earth could this be happening?

This sacred day had been shattered. It was as if someone had detonated a bomb. I held my baby close, like a frightened small bird – checking her over so as not to cause her alarm, no blood, nothing broken, thankfully she was not injured badly. A knock on the head, a whack on the arm, she’d remained upright. Shocking. Thank god my brother wasn’t there – he’s had a detached retina operated on several times over the last few years – we’d have been in an ambulance immediately if it’d been him.

A girl from the flower stall ran over to give us flowers ‘I hope that makes it better’ she said. Another lady tried to reassure us ‘There’s only one or two bad ones here.’ The security guard was with us, also female, calling in the cctv footage from all around. This drama unfurling was something that we did not want to star in, we wanted to skulk away quietly and unnoticed, but all of a sudden we were in the spotlight. How cruel. ‘Not what you want on Mother’s day love is it?’ said the security guard lady.

We were shepherded towards Lidl to give our details, the man that took us had a large scar on his head and had been hit by a similar incident – he told us he’d been in hospital for months and had an abcess on his brain. At this point I found it hard not to be sick.

The biker, who had been caught on CCTV, was ‘detained’ minutes later. We walked away shaken, horrified and desperate to get home.

So much for remembrance. Our day had been brutalised but I was determined not to have it ruined. We went to the sweet shop with all the funky day glo sweets – it was closed – she cried. We went to grab an icecream and wandered towards the cab rank to get a taxi to the station.

Ensconced on the train in relative comfort, we were both glad to be on the way home.

‘Mummy shall I tell my teacher what happened?’
‘Darling – remember why we’re here, don’t let it take over the weekend, let’s get over it.’
‘But shall I tell my best friend what happened?’
‘Well why don’t you look at the whole weekend and pick out the good things?’

Or why don’t we just go boil our heads in buckets and have done with this one horse town, I’m not sure I’ll ever go back there now, my Mother doesn’t live there anymore, she’s within us and so what, my brother lives somewhere quieter, I ranted thought to myself.

But then I thought, hang on a minute – we were really looked after, people were much more caring than they would have been in London. With all these women helping each other, would that really have happened if it had not been Mothers’ Day?

I don’t know but they say blessings come in disguise.

Thanks to everyone today for helping us today. It has meant a huge amount. I hope those flowers last a while. We’ll be back for ice creams this Summer.

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2 Comments to “Mothers' Day – how was it for you?”

  1. Potty Mummy says:

    I hope MM gets over it soon and remembers the ice-cream rather than the reason for it, but you’re putting completely the right slant on it by focussing on the supportive reactions around you…

    PMx
    .-= Potty Mummy´s last blog ..Conversations with my Russian Teacher: #1 =-.

  2. Heather says:

    oh how horrible, but how wonderful the support and people that rallied to your side! There is a lot for her to learn from the help I think, how nice it feels to be on the receiving end of it and how we should try to help others when we can.

    Glad she is ok.
    .-= Heather´s last blog ..Do You Friday Follow? =-.

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