mothersday

“Mummy, can you puh-lease tell me one more story? A VERY long one?” It is bedtime, golden and magical, just me and my four year-old boy, closed off from the rest of the world behind a wooden door against which our corgi rests snugly. My furbaby likes being with us at bedtime, not wanting to be excluded because, after all, he did come before the hooman-baby.

I rest my cheek against the pillow and take in my son’s sweet face, still rounded and baby-smooth.  “OK, darling. What story would you like tonight?” I stifle a yawn, for I am feeling sleepy after yet another busy day as a working mummy. 

He grins, his cheek dimpling. “I want a story about a cockroach!”

Well, that wakes me up. I absolutely hate cockroaches. Why can’t he choose some other creature, something less feral and revolting. Perhaps a ladybird? A bee? A house lizard?

Nope, he insists on the cockroach. And since I am a story-teller, I take up the challenge. I smile and roll onto my tummy, just like him. “OK, then give mummy a big kiss,” I demand with mock-petulance. And so he happily obliges, and I breathe in that delicious sweetness that still lingers on his baby-like skin, and I begin. “Once upon a time, there was a very unique cockroach named Calvin who wore a red hat…” And my boy beams and giggles with such sheer joy that my heart is full to bursting, and in that instant I wish that I have magical powers so that I can channel that moment into a pearl that I could plop into a jar full of other pearls that I could one day string up like a necklace. And I would wear it around my neck so that I could forever hold those pearls close to my heart and relive them one by one when he decides he is too old for bedtime stories and no longer wants mummy to put him to bed.

Today is Mother’s Day, and as I write this my heart feels a myriad of things. Happiness. Bittersweetness. Sadness. Compassion. Grief. Hope. Joy. Wonder. Nostalgia. Regret. Gratitude.

I celebrate this day as a mother and a daughter. As a mother, I welcome this day with joy, wonder, and gratitude. I love being a mother and I am thankful to have my boy in my life. As a daughter, I celebrate this day with my mother who suffered a massive stroke last year, and she is no longer the same person. But it’s funny how the stripping away of a person can sometimes strip away walls, too. Before her stroke, so many things were left unsaid. But these days, I tell her everyday that I love her, and she replies, “I love you, too.” She may not remember my birthday anymore, she may forget things that happened two minutes ago, and she may ask the same question over and over again; but what matters most is that she knows she is much loved.

As I write this, I also think about how Mother’s Day isn’t easy for so many women. I remember what that was like: when I found it hard to feel celebratory on this day. There are women waiting for their miracle, the mothers who have lost a child, the mothers who have suffered a pregnancy loss, the mothers who have suffered stillbirth, and those who have lost their mothers or grandmothers. There are also those who were adopted and perhaps don’t have a mother-figure in their lives, or those who are searching for one. There is a big wide world out there filled with people whose lives I can only imagine, whose experiences and plights I may find hard to identify with. So before I throw out the blanket well wishes and yell, “Happy Mother’s Day!” I take a moment to think: this may not be a happy day for everyone, and if it is not, I wish for better and happier days ahead.

Memories connect us to our loved ones, and as a mother I want to make wonderful memories with my son. I want him to remember my quirky tall stories about Calvin the cockroach and other strange tales about giants and ogres and whatnot. I want my boy to remember that his mommy so loved spending time with him, shrouded in that magical blanket called love that may change form over the years, but shall never leave. And perhaps one day, when I am too old and frail to get out of bed, my son can hold my wrinkled hand and tell me stories that I can take away with me.

Kathryn Tse-Durham
Author of The Ellanor Chronicles
10th May 2020

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