Ouch, that title hurt to type.
Sat in the lounge, snuggled in my cosy robe, guzzling down my bolognaise as my husband puts our boy to sleep and PANG.
A deep, sharp, pang. Hollow. There’s that hole. The hole that feels like a gusty, icy breeze is piercing through my chest again, circling fiercely around like a whirlwind.
I think to myself, I know this feeling.
I know this feeling well.
If I’m honest, I felt this feeling a while ago but I wanted to push it away, almost convince myself it wasn’t there and that I was ‘doing well’ not thinking about her. Not thinking about mum. Not acknowledging her absence.
But this isn’t true. There is no such thing as ‘doing well’ at grief, contrary to popular belief. We all have different coping mechanisms, helpful or unhelpful. Grief is grief.
The truth for me is, it hurts. I became a mum in the summer and my mum has never physically met my baby, my son, my boy, and she never will.
I know, I know, spiritually she’s shining down on me and all that, but right now I’m feeling the pain and missing her physical presence sorely. I don’t want someone to try and put a band aid over the gaping hole. I’m writing as part of my healing, as part of my grieving, missing my lovely mum.
They say becoming a mum brings up your own memories of your mother. I catch note of myself with my son sometimes and I wander, I wander if what I share with my boy she shared with me. That doting gaze I hold when we lock eyes for seconds on end, sometimes minutes, where deep love is exchanged and the world stops spinning and it’s just us.
Me and my boy.
It makes me think of those films or dinner party questions where you could have 30 minutes with someone dead or alive who would you pick. Oh how I’d love to sit on a park bench (clearly life with Covid is etched in to me!) pram in tow, sat with my mum. Chatting. Chatting all things birth. All things my boy. My solider. My hero. My baby who went through a major operation at 6.5 weeks old but where were you?
The anger is seeping out. That’s the thing with grief. It can range from happy to sad to angry in milliseconds. All is valid. It doesn’t take away the love.
Mothering without my own is hard. I’ve got a strong army of loved ones around me, key family members, friends, an incredible husband, in laws and more. Some call me lucky for this, and believe me I’m grateful, but never will they ever, and they’re never meant to, replace my dear, lovely mum.
This type of grief is new to me and I’ll be navigating it as I go along. Learning. Mothering whilst having missed a large chunk of being mothered.
I miss you, my beautiful mum,
I hope we are doing you proud. You’d love your gorgeous grandson. He is so handsome, cheeky, cute with funny mannerisms and makes for a great cuddle.
He’ll learn about you, mum. We’ll keep you around however we can.
We love you lots, Forever in our heart we carry you. Hold us in yours too.