Georgia Love: This Sunday Is My Least Favourite Day Of The Year, And It Never Gets Easier
This weekend is Mother's Day and we’re stuck in isolation.
While some states are allowed small indoor gatherings, some still aren’t allowed to mingle with anyone more than those who share their four walls, so this means a lot of you probably won’t be able to spend the day with the very person it’s meant to be about.
But please don’t complain about it.
This Sunday will be my fourth Mother's Day without my mum, Belinda, after she passed away from pancreatic cancer in 2016. We had no idea her last Mother’s Day would be just that -- she lost her battle just six months after her diagnosis.
Since her death, of course, there have been countless difficult days. Not just the anniversary of her death, the anniversary of her diagnosis or her surgery, her birthday, my birthday, but also the random days in between.
There's the otherwise normal Tuesday I wake up to get ready for work and out of nowhere, the loss of my mum hits me like a freight train and I struggle to sit up in bed, let alone get out and on with my day.
There’s the times I’m having a laugh with a friend or a joke with my fiancé and I think “Mum would find this so funny!” and go to text her.
There's the day I got engaged. She was the one person, far more than anyone else, who would have wanted to hear and share in that news but she wasn’t there to call. At the engagement party, she was represented only by a framed photo and sunny sky.
But by far, the worst day of them all, every single year, is Mother's Day.
‘Spoil Your Mum This Mother's Day!’
‘Doesn’t Mum Deserve To Feel Special?’
‘Show Mum You Love Her With This New State-Of-The-Art Flatscreen TV!’
For weeks now, my inbox and those of everyone else who has ever bought anything online has been filled with these emails. They’re annoying, at best, but can you for a moment imagine what they do to someone who doesn’t have a mum?
Literally daily for the past month, I will be working on my computer minding my own business with my head in my work, and an alert will pop up reminding me I don’t have a mum -- while suggesting that others have thought about theirs so little they need an email reminder to buy her a gift. And it really, really hurts.
Then there’s the dreaded day itself. The posted photos of every single person I know smiling with and hugging their beloved mothers. The ‘Happy Mother's Day to my best friend’ and ‘So lucky to have the best mum in the world!’ captions.
I don’t begrudge these posts. They’re lovely and heartfelt and yes, you ARE lucky! But I don’t want to see them. I love social media but this one day of the year I truly wish it didn’t exist. “Just don’t log on that day,” I hear you say. I don’t. But the algorithm will make darn sure I don’t miss any post from the time I’ve been offline.
There’s also the difficulty that comes with having a mother-in-law who I adore. I want to, and do always, celebrate her on Mother's Day. But it is such a bittersweet thing to be able to do. She is the second most kind and wonderful woman I know (Mum would come back to haunt me if I didn’t put that caveat in!) and her family -- of which I am now a part -- rightly adores her and wants her to feel special on “her” day. And she deserves that! But I don’t think any one of my in-laws understands (nor should they) just how difficult it is for me to celebrate someone else’s mum when mine has left such an almighty hole in my heart.
So if you can’t see your mum this Mother's Day because of coronavirus restrictions, please don’t complain. Please stop and think about those of us who still won’t get to see ours when this pandemic is over. Please think about those of us who are hurting every day, but that day more than most. Please appreciate your own mother, love her, call her and acknowledge her. But please, please don’t complain.
Because there is nothing I wouldn’t give to “only” be able to FaceTime my mum this Sunday.
Featured Image: Supplied