dear mummsy – a handmade card (sort of)

Dear Mummsy

I was cleaning out the garage, doing my best not to get around to sorting through the boxes of accumulating paperwork that I can’t seem to let go of, when I came across my prized stash of handmade Mother’s Day cards the boys have made me over the years, and thought of you… 

I know you don’t have any filed for posterity and nostalgia, because that’s not you. You are good at letting go and moving on. And maybe that is for the best, because, actually, the only thing I can remember making you is an angry, ugly picture I drew of you with a huge nose, warts, massive ears, big scary evil eyes and decayed teeth – which you found under my bed while vacuuming.

That must have hurt. Sorry about that. 

We love-hated each other for a good few years, didn’t we? We challenged the hell out of each other and knew just the right tender spots to poke. It was painful, upsetting and challenging.

As you will remember I was very happy to leave home. But despite this, you cried on my last day of high school. And when, rolling my eyes, I asked what was wrong, you said you realised it was the last day you’d be making my lunch. 

A few tears rolled down my cheeks when you said that, but you wouldn’t have known, because I didn’t want you to see. I was too busy being angry with you.

Then opinionated, judgemental, know it all me, got out into the world and discovered that I didn’t know it all after all, and still needed my mum (even though I continued to try and deny it for a long time).

The truly pivotal point in my life, when I finally gave up all the angsting and criticism of you, was when I became a mother myself.

The day you walked through the front door, when I was just home from hospital with a baby that wouldn’t stop crying, trying to be a mother I didn’t know how to be yet, and you just handled the situation, I felt in complete awe of you.

Becoming a mother has been the hardest and most wonderful thing I’ve done so far with my life. And each moment of it has stripped me back to more and more respect, appreciation, insight, compassion and wonder for you, my mum. 

All that anger I had towards you, all the judgement, all the frustration and hurt… It’s all gone and replaced with a deep gratitude. 

So, happy Mother’s Day Mum! There are so many things about you that I am grateful for… 

I love that you taught me to have a healthy cynicism for… well everything. I love that you inspired me to challenge and question the status quo always.

I love that when you were halfway to hospital to give birth to me, your firstborn, gripped by intense contractions, you still found it within you to be okay with Dad turning the car around to go back home and get the ciggies. That makes me laugh so much, every time you tell it to me.

Thank you for swearing occasionally. Like a pinch of saffron - minimal, occasional, but subtly wonderful in the dish of life.

I love that you provided me with a shining example of what it is to be a multidimensional, sometimes unpredictable, inconsistent, contradictory human. Surely there can be nothing more wonderful than showing your children that it is okay to be one thing sometimes, another thing elsetimes. To have hopes, dreams, ideals, and to not always live by them; a perfect antidote to perfectionism.

I love that you taught us to play cards and boardgames. A dying art. 

I love that you taught me to be an assertive, independent, self-sufficient person. Even though at the time I really hated you for it and wished that you would do for me, the things that you classed as good assertiveness training, but I classed as scary…

Like booking train tickets over the phone. What if I didn’t get my sentences in the right order? What if I froze and couldn’t speak at all? Well, that ability took me around the world, allowed me to live, survive and navigate foreign countries, cultures and languages.

I love that even though you are a fiercely independent, anti-establishment woman, you also bake awesome scones, knit socks, sew frocks, grow your own veggies and have a pantry full of homemade preserves.

I also love that you taught me what vulnerability is. Even though you are one of the most stoic, capable people I know, weird little things like driving to the airport scare you, and you always cry through movies that aren’t even that sad.

I love that you always have my back. Even when I screw up monumentally, get myself into a pickle, do something that most others frown upon (including me) - you’re there, either in person or on the other end of the phone, available for non-judgement, advice, counselling, consoling, support and encouragement.

And to this day, whenever life throws up challenges that send me into a spin of chaotic thoughts and feelings, I love that my first coherent thought is, What would Mum do?

Love you Mummsy xxx

P.S. Thanks for vacuuming under my bed and making my school lunches every day.