Today is Mother’s Day in the UK, almost a year since we were first locked down due to the pandemic. A lot has happened. A lot has changed. But mothering goes on in all it’s many guises: from those we were born to, to those we gave birth to, from those who chose to mother or be mothered where mothering was needed most, in memory of those we have lost, young and old, to mothers who cannot be with their children and children who cannot be with their mothers.
Days like today can often feel like Hallmark moments but after the stress and emotions of the past year, a communal celebration of motherhood feels like part of the road to recovery, to healing. The motherhood of humans but also of our Earth and all that she gives us. Whether you subscribe to the Mother Earth philosophy, it is still a good day to give thanks for the planetary abundance that it’s so easy to take for granted. A bit like motherhood here on Earth.
As a mother among mothers, the daughter of a long line of mothers, my truth and experience is that there are many many days of motherhood that do not go to plan and then there are the bright flashes of love and light and gratitude. Motherhood can be joyful but it can also be bloody hard work. As I write this my seven year old has just – in about 5 seconds flat – climbed about 12 feet up in the magnolia tree. Five stressful seconds later he’s back down again with an offering of magnolia buds ‘fresh from the tree’. I had to stop myself shouting get down. I had to let him work it out. I’m not always good at that. They’ve also put on their best mother’s day behaviour – saying yes to pretty much everything (unnerving!) – but also been found hiding upstairs with a stash of stolen chocolate, watching tv with the sound down after nicking the remote control from my reserve hiding place (this is more like it!). They’re now sharpening bamboo sticks ready for a game of dare (god help me!).
We’ve also had a year of homeschooling. Huddling together day after day, a jumble of fears and worries and resilience, trying our best, losing our shit, collapsing with exhaustion, getting up again. I’m so proud of them for keeping going, for keeping me going too even though they generally specialise in wearing me out and down. They also specialise in much needed cuddles. I’m also proud of myself, for helping them through the hard times, for hopefully inspiring them to be their best selves but also letting them know it’s okay to share their feelings, their highs and lows. I’m sure there are many parents who will remember this time as a beautiful one as well as the toughest time.
I’m lucky that my mum is still here to share Mother’s Day with although it’s now been 10 months since I last saw her in person, over a year since we hugged or touched. There have been many phone calls and zooms through the pandemic, keeping the support lines open, bonded by our shared pursuits and passions: plants, art, reading and walking. I’m forever grateful that my parents are creative people, who actively encouraged us to be creative too. Also people who love and appreciate the botanical world. Creativity, imagination and a love of nature are such powerful survival tools. You can’t lock those down no matter what you do.
Sadly none of of my grandparents are around any more. My nana died last year of Covid albeit at the grand old age of 99 and I never knew my paternal grandmother, a sad story for another day that we painfully relived over much of last year. A story of a family torn apart. I pray and hope that those seeking to keep these wounds open will soon make peace for the sake of our youngest generations and those to come. If there is anything I have learned about my Indian grandma, my Ba, it is that she would have wanted everyone to be together. To love one another. To embrace change and each other.
It has also been a year where the mums in my family and many mum friends have been pushed to the extreme, a year where the previous years haven’t been easy anyway. I’m in awe of their strength and tenacity throughout it all, carried through by the beating heart of motherhood: unconditional love. In normal times we can gather round in person to help those who are facing adversity stay buoyant, our hugs and visits like a network of rafts and floats. This year we’ve had to find new ways of showing our support, of keeping those communal candles burning. It never feels enough but at the same time it’s often the little things that make a difference. A lot of little things can make a lot of difference.
As I wrote to some of my fellow mums this morning, motherhood stems from having children but it also brings friendship, support, conversation, debates and laughter. I’m so grateful for that. It has never been more needed.
I’m now waiting for the sun to come out so that I can do a bit more gardening not just because there are jobs that need doing but because it’s also a wonderful reminder of the magic of nature and nurture. That we don’t always get things right. That everything has a lifecycle. That when life blooms it really blooms and gives back in basketfuls. That even if we can’t be together we can sow our seeds at the same time and watch them grow. Here’s to mothering and a brighter tomorrow.