It's Mother's Day here in the UK - traditionally the day when people working away from home were permitted to go back to their villages to attend the Mother Church, and also for girls in service to be able to visit their own mothers.
The day when, as a small child, I was myself hauled off to church to trot up to and back from the altar and hand my own mother a small bunch of snowdrops with the oh, so insincere but required "From my Heart". Uttered, even then with a tinge of embarrassment that they had been someone else's words, not mine.
How I hated those polite, manufactured church ceremonies done for "show" - when to run down the nave back to my little Welsh Mam, to give a great big, huggy, kiss was really what I wanted - (and I'm no different now).
For me, Mother's Day is now always tinged with sadness, for, unlike the Interflora advertisement which landed in my email inbox last week, exhorting me to "make your Mother's Day special - don't forget to send her flowers today!", I no longer give my mother flowers, for my mother is no longer with me in body - but in Spirit is here by my side every day
Every day, I see those sweet, gentle eyes of hers - taken, in this photograph, on her 80th birthday, nearly ten years ago. Eyes that were always filled with love. Eyes that sparkled through all the adversity of her life, and there was plenty. She was very ill, for a long time, but always the eyes sparkled with a smile - a smile of gratitude from the depths of her soul, while she whispered that her latest aches and pains (or heart attack) were "nothing really - there is always someone else worse off than me".
My mother always saw her cup half full, rather than half empty - and today I raise my own cup (of tea, which was her favourite), and my glass - of wine - a treat for me, to say thank you, My Darling, for being my most wonderful mother, and for leaving the light in your eyes, brimming up from your heart, forever shining upon me.
I knew your mother must have been nice and smiling like this to give birth and raise a daughter like you :-) It was mother's day here in Norway last month, but I still got to celebrate my mother. She turned 75 years young yesterday.
Posted by: Britt-Arnhild | Sunday, March 06, 2005 at 19:14
What a beauty your mom was, Roz. This is such a joy-filled photo of an older person--who are usually depicted as dilapidated. I'm a little behind on blog reading, but will catch up now. Liked your mom day story, too--and we had a similar thing. You wore a white rose if your mom was dead and red if she was alive. I always think of that even today.
Posted by: Fran | Wednesday, March 09, 2005 at 06:14