Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
Is there a sentence to better conjure up the ineffable and overwhelming rush of EVERYTHING on welcoming a child into the world than the opening line of Sylvia Plath’s poem, Morning Song.
With the transformation into ‘Mother’ comes the tacit -some might argue lightbulb – understanding new depths of love, of staring into a pool which has no bottom coupled with the constant push/ pull which never quite leaves you.
Each Mother’s day we celebrate the women in our life and motherhood in all its gloriously messy, exhausting, selfless, non-sense making complexity.
It is a day to share cake, eat out and failing that, send flowers and gifts and open cards filled with meaningful, thoughtful words which will make loved ones feel cherished, appreciated and seen.
Remembering too that there are many women who are navigating the challenges which come with loss, hope and yearning: the mothers who have lost children or children’ who have lost mothers and also remembering those who are yet to become mothers.
Thinking too of those whose mothers were not quite the mothers they needed -or wanted – for step-mothers, foster mothers, god mothers and for the many, many women who decide not to be mothers.
For the second time in less than a year we may not have the chance to celebrate Mother’s day with our own mothers. If the past year has taught us anything however, it is the comfort of our support systems: the rock-like friends who have heard the wobble in our voice, neighbours who have left kindness on our doorstep along with the work and life mentors who make up the “many other mothers” in our lives. And who knows, perhaps Mother’s Day this year should be the chance to thank them all.