Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. In the morning we will wake up to homemade cards, bookmarks made at school, plates with painted handprints, possibly a bouquet of flowers, and some chocolates.
We will be showered with kisses and cuddles and promises of breakfast in bed without a single bowl to clean up. We will lap every second of our children’s sweetness up before going on with the day. A trip to the beach? A picnic perhaps? Followed by afternoon tea with grandma and grandpa.
Except, for so many of us, this latter request won’t happen. Because borders are still shut. We are still an ocean away from our mums. So, for the second year in a row, they will celebrate this special day – their special day too – through a screen.
Mother’s Day without Mum
I am one of the countless mums who will not see my own mum on Mother’s Day. Or any day for that matter. It’s been this way for a while now. Well over a year, in fact.
15 months of Skype calls, Messenger video chats, snail-mail deliveries. Not being able to hug, or cuddle, or kiss or play. Books read, birthdays celebrated, games played, forts made, all through a screen.
Watching grandkids grow up through photos, not in person.
My youngest is two and a half now. The last time she saw Nana, she was a baby. She sees her every day but she’s a person on a screen. A woman in photos. A voice she knows.
Would she recognise her in the airport? Would she cuddle her straight away? The way a grandchild should when they see a grandparent they know?
This missing is awful. For her. For me. For you. Because being away from my mum is hard enough. Knowing my grandkids can’t see her is heartbreaking.
So, to all the mothers and daughters separated this Mother’s Day, please remember this:
We miss you. We love you. We hate that you are missing the best days together. Mostly, we wish you were here. To have a cup of tea and watch you play with your grandkids in real life. To give you a hug and tell you thanks for everything.
This Mother’s Day, I am so grateful for my children. I’m the luckiest mum in the world. But that doesn’t stop the feeling that something is missing, that my mum should be here with us and should be celebrating with us too. And not just tomorrow either. Every. Single. Day.
This Mother’s Day, I just want my mum.
One day this will all end. Hopefully before next Mother’s Day. One day we will see each other at the airport. You will be greeted with excited faces and happy tears and a little granddaughter who is no longer a baby anymore but is still your grandbaby.
Until then, skype plays and Mother’s Day tea through a screen will be enough.
Happy Mother’s Day, mum. We miss you.