Whilst we’ll be raising a glass (or several) this evening and I’ll be enjoying a quiet dinner out with my dad and brother, we won’t be marking that milestone with her. There’ll be no big bash or lavish celebration. Although she would actually have hated that as she didn’t like being centre of attention.

The march of time

It’s hard to believe that we’ve been without her for 24 years. It’s harder still to comprehend that she died suddenly at the age I am now. I knew it was young at the time, but now I’m acutely aware of just how so.

She’s been out of my life longer than she was in it. However, despite the passing of time, she remains my guiding star. When I have decisions to make or am a bit unsure about something I always think what mum might have advised. I do rely more on my own instincts than I think I would if she was still here. However, mum still offers ethereal counsel. To this day she regularly dominates my stories and reminisces. Whilst a lot of the time this brings smiles, often talking about her has the power to bring me to tears still.

Missing out with mum

I was at university when mum died (I’d just turned 21). Whilst we’d always been very close, I’d got to the age where the mother/daughter relationship was melding into a real friendship one too.

We’d always done a lot together as a family. However, we were on the cusp of doing more special mother and daughter things. When I was back from uni, we’d started going out just the two of us for lunches. I took it for granted that there was a lot more of this to come. Now I lament all those lunches we never got to have, all the weekends away or special trips to the theatre that never came to fruition and the fact she wasn’t there on my wedding day. I also miss the mundane; the day-to-day details of life with mum, which I can’t properly recall. When I see photos on socials of friends out with their mums I still get a bit jealous.

Even now I find myself wanting to ask her advice on all sorts of things. Grief never completely ends. It’s waxing and waning, and evolving. So now, probably one of the hardest things to accept is that my children never met her. She’d have been besotted with them. I talk about her a lot and I do feel like my daughters do ‘know her’ as much as they can.

Amazing mum

It’s said a lot, but my mum really was the most amazing mother. She was completely selfless, always putting my brother and I first. She devoted so much time to us. From helping with homework and revision and taking us to interesting places to seemingly solving all our problems and being the ultimate confidant. She knew me better than I knew myself. Mum was our biggest champion and took so much pride in us. I remember an entire wall of our certificates neatly on display. Her love was unconditional.

Mum never treated herself but lavished a lot on us kids. We were probably a bit spoilt if I’m honest. She was a fantastic role model and was always firm but fair. Mum was a lot of fun, but we never got away with misbehaving (although she was instrumental in making me a fake ID when I was 16 or 17)! She taught me to stand up for myself and not suffer fools gladly but equally to treat everyone with respect and kindness. Mum often said I was all things to all people, but that was down to her and what she’d instilled.

Mostly like mother like daughter

I have inherited a lot of mum’s personality traits (and mannerisms) and we looked very similar in our younger years. She also loved a drink and never got hangovers. Sounds familiar! We used to finish off each other’s sentences and were completely on the same wavelength.

I feel, as they’re getting older, my relationship with my daughters is becoming similar to the one she had with me. I open my mouth and sometimes my mum jumps out! Our parenting styles, I think, are pretty alike, and family time is sacred. Probably the biggest difference though is my mum would never go out without my brother and I. I on the other hand have no such qualms.

Dad’s promise

My mum always made my dad promise that if anything ever happened to her he’d do everything possible for my brother and I. Well mum, you’d be pleased to know that he’s stayed true to his word and some. From babysitting, cleaning and hedge trimming to chauffeuring and being our Italian food and wine provider, we couldn’t be without him.

Cheers to you mum and to everything you did for us. You live on through your children and grandchildren. As my very young cousin remarked after she died: “She really charged their [my brother’s and my]batteries.” She did indeed!

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I’ve always encouraged my daughters to have a wide and varied circle of friends. I know from experience that being attached to just one friend at a young age isn’t a good idea. However, despite my best efforts all three have at various points had a ‘best friend’ or ‘BFF’ (I absolutely HATE that term!).

Three: not always the magic number

Sofia – my eldest – had a large group of friends for most of reception class, but then started to really gravitate to just one person. They were very close and Sofia talked about her constantly. Things changed when the classes were mixed up and she made a new very good friend, which I was really pleased about. However, this wasn’t without problems as Sofia’s two friends didn’t get on with each other so she was always torn and could never play with both at the same time.

‘Losing’ a best friend

Then a new friendship issue arrived in year two… Sofia’s ‘best friend’ got very close to another girl. The two girls played together and, from what my daughter said, excluded all their other friends. They weren’t mean or cruel, they just wanted to do the same activities at break times so went off together. My daughter had many a sleepless night and tears over it despite having other friends that she could (and did) play with.

I took it very seriously as it completely brought back memories of similar issues I’d had at school. I didn’t speak to the girl’s mum about it (as Sofia had asked) as there was no malice and you can’t force someone to play with someone else. I just reiterated that she should build her other friendships and not chase after people who were not going to include her. Thankfully it resolved itself, but I don’t think these episodes should be taken lightly. These are very real problems at that age and it feels like the centre of their world. Sofia now has a great group of very close friends plus a wider circle of friends that she plays with regularly but not as frequently.

Friendship issues of my twins

History is now repeating itself with my six-year-old twins. They are in different classes (my choice), but still seem to have the same problems. They started out with lots of friends and when I asked who they’d played with at break time there was always a different list of names. Then it narrowed down. It would all be hunky-dory for a bit and then there’d be trouble in paradise: “She’s my best friend, but now she has another friend and won’t let me play with them,”… “X said if I don’t do [insert minor misdemeanour]she won’t be my best friend,”… “X says she doesn’t want to be my best friend any more,”… “X always wants to sit next to Y now and not me.”

How the school’s policy has helped

At our local infant school they mix the classes up each year. Although it initially may seem a bit harsh it is very well managed and they speak to each child to ensure that at least two of their closer friends end up in the same class. It’s a great way to get them to add to their friendship groups and helps nip cliques in the bud.

My main friendship advice would be…

• Keep encouraging your child to play with other children and not have one ‘best friend’
• Don’t out and out dismiss friendships
• Steer them away from friendships that seem troublesome (but again don’t dismiss these friendships as this doesn’t help!). By troublesome I mean when they whinge/complain about the person lots but they’re still their ‘best friend’
• Get your child to enrol in different school clubs so they mix with different children
• Take their concerns seriously and talk them through

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Mother’s Day for the first couple of years after mum died were probably quite different and I’m sure I found it difficult, but now I struggle to remember what it was like. I also struggle to remember what we did do for Mother’s Day when she was around and indeed what we used to do generally. Whilst I remember specific stories and events such as holidays, I’m really hazy about what we used to do day-to-day and about the more mundane things. I think my dwindling recollections are what make me particularly sad.

I had just turned 21 when she died and was at university so it was my third year away from home. Living 150 miles away on campus since the age of 18 meant we very seldom got the opportunity to go out just the two of us to share a bite to eat, a bottle of wine and an uninterrupted chat; a fact I really lament. I am probably saddest about the fact that I missed out almost completely on having an adult relationship with my mum (we’d just started to have this when I returned from uni in the holidays), and that she wasn’t here when my children were born.

Mother’s Day as a Mum

On the other hand, Mother’s Day doesn’t pass me by at all. My daughters get so excited and I love their enthusiasm for doing something nice for me and making me happy. There is a frenzy of card making, and lots of whispering amongst themselves and with daddy. It reminds me of my own childhood excitement about the day, my purchases of random tat for my mum and how I always thought I’d hidden things really well when in fact I hadn’t.

Mother’s Day is a happy day for me now, but it does make me reflect a lot on my own lost relationship. It can be a really difficult time for many. There are those that have recently lost their mum, those that have lost a child and those that long to be a mum but can’t.

The post Mother’s Day Without a Mum and as a Mum appeared first on The Parent Social.

From when I was born until I was 12, my dad was a manager of a very successful West End restaurant. He worked long, unsociable hours; he was that very traditional ‘provider.’ He worked hard so that my brother and I could have what we needed, and more besides. It meant I rarely saw him. He got home in the early hours and was still in bed – to just say goodbye to – when I left for school. Our Sunday’s (his day off) were sacred. We’d always do something as a family – going out for nice meals and going to St James’ Park in London for a wander and to feed the birds are things that particularly stick in my mind.

It’s safe to say that despite his unquestioned love for us, my dad had very little hands on experience of bringing us up or looking after us – he’d be the first to admit that my mum did practically all of it on her own. This is why it’s so amazing to see what a major part he plays in his grandaughters’ lives. There’s no doubt that my mum would have been a doting and fantastic granny to my children, but sadly that was never to be. She always made my dad promise that if anything ever happened to her, he’d do everything he could for my brother and I. He’s stayed true to his word and has done a fantastic job. Just one example is that, despite still working part-time, he helps me out with the morning school run every day. My mum would have been proud.

He has taken on his role as nonno (Italian for grandad) with gusto. He does so much for us all; the girls love him to bits and my husband is a massive fan!

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She died over 14 years ago aged 45. I can’t really imagine what she’d have been like at 60; probably much the same as I remember her. It’s just 60 isn’t on my radar, whilst 45 is just 10 years older than I am now and rather too close for comfort.

Mum, friend and would-be-granny

I do still fantasise about all of the lunches and chats over a bottle of wine we’d have had. I was in my final year of university when she died and we’d already started having those kind of lunches when I was back home on holiday. Our relationship was becoming increasingly that of close friends not just mother and daughter. She’d have been a fantastic granny (I kind of assume she’d have gone for that title as that’s what I called her mum). As my dad has said – many times – she would probably have tried to move in with my husband and I so she could help 24/7 with the kids.

She absolutely hated having her photo taken, but I do have this one of her with my brother and I at my 21st birthday party a couple of weeks before she died unexpectedly. Even she felt compelled to have her pic taken at the occasion she’d spent so much time organising. She would absolutely freak if she knew I’d used it.

My mum made my dad promise that if anything ever happened to her, he’d do everything he could for my brother and I. He’s stayed true to his word and has done a fantastic job. Just one example is that, despite still working part-time, he helps me out with the morning school run every day. My mum would have been proud of all of us.

A toast to mum

I’m not going to go on about what a fantastic mother she was (and she really was the most amazing one), as anyone who knew her already knows this. However, I’ll be raising a glass for this milestone birthday. I will no doubt be thinking about what might have been in our relationship at this stage of my life and what might have been for the grandchildren she didn’t meet.

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