Being Mum

2008 was a bitter sweet year for me. It was the year I became a Mum and it was the year I lost my own Mum. My Mum missed meeting my daughter by five and a half weeks. I think we both kind of knew that it was never meant to be, but it remained a deep unspoken truth that hurt too much to voice. It was a remarkable thing really. My whole pregnancy was littered with poignant moments that seemed to tie my mum and my daughter together before she'd even entered the world. I remember an occasion when I was four months pregnant at my parents house; I was being sick in one bathroom due to my progressing pregnancy and my Mum was in a bathroom across the landing being sick due to her progressing cancer. The circle of life never more magnified than at that moment.

My nine months of pregnancy mirrored nine months of deterioration in my Mum's health. During the last few hours of my Mum's life I sat next to her bed and placed her hand on my huge pregnant tummy. I watched the colour gradually leave my Mum's fingers as if she was slowly being emptied, I felt panic. I wanted to stop that process there and then. I realised within that moment that I'd forgotten to ask her so many questions. There were so many things I still needed her to explain to me, so many things that I knew I didn't know. I still needed her, I still do. But my opportunity was gone, she was dying, she'd done her job, God had chosen now.

Twelve years on, I'm grateful, very very grateful. They say that you never really grow up until you lose a parent and I feel like I've had a crash course in growing up over the last twelve years. As each season changes, each year passes, the pain is less sharp but the longing never goes away. As I watch my children grow and as they pass through each stage of development I thank my Mum for braving those very same experiences for my sake. It's hard. It's really really hard being a parent. It's easy to feel lost, it's easy to feel out of control. Your tank gets empty really quickly and just when you think you're starting to master it, parenthood throws another curve-ball your way. 

Nurture means to 'care for and protect' (someone or something) while they are growing. Nurturing our children is an ever evolving process, one we don't always get right. In our attempt to care, we can stifle; in our attempt to protect, we can inhibit. As our children evolve so do we. "Time stands still for no Mum!", children change, we change. The combination of these transformations can make for some interesting times. I still have my children's teenage years ahead of me, but as I look ahead and try to plan my strategies for the potential forthcoming tsunami, I know that as in every other stage of their development it's more likely to be a spontaneous improvisation - driving round blind bends, trying to avoid crashing. I'm OK with that - I have no choice but to be, I'm not sure how else to do it.

When I look back through a child's eyes at the way my Mum did it, it just seemed she knew the answer to everything. I felt safe. I felt secure. She was my Mum. I loved her - nothing else mattered. In reality though it was probably different -  I have the feeling that if I could have one cup of coffee with her today, she might tell a different story.  You see, when your Mum is gone and as you grow yourself, you realise that there is no perfect way. You hear the words and expressions of your Mum coming out of your mouth to your own children (I think mine might be a little more 'choice' than my Mum's at times), but you realise that these very sentences can be spoken confidently but with a heart that is flailing, and a soul that is tired. I know now, that this is all OK. My Mum would want me to keep pressing on, she would want me to put yesterday behind me and keep on moving.

As children, we think our parents are there solely to support our existence, to cater for our every need. As an adult, I know that that is impossible. We are human, our tanks need filling, our hearts need to rest - but this is OK. You see that is why I am so grateful, so very grateful to my Mum. Because despite how she must have felt at times, she pressed on, she kept moving forward and it is only now, when at times things feel so very hard, that I realise just how remarkable that was.

Thank you Mum.