Mother's Day Eve

Mother's Day is celebrated here in Canada and the United States tomorrow. I've always loved this day as it's the 'official' opportunity to tell the world how much you love and respect your mother. It's important. Mums do the most difficult job in the world and they cannot be thanked enough for it. Some people might need the little push that Mother's Day provides to tell their mum how much they love them, but I never fell into that category. 

My mum was my favourite person on the planet. We would get together at least once a week and we spoke every day. Each night, after dinner when we both would have just sat down, fresh from washing the dishes and before we got tucked into whatever was on TV that night, we'd have a chat. Chances are, I would have spoken to my mum earlier that day too, but regardless of how frequent we spoke, I never let one of our conversations wrap up without telling her that I loved her. I didn't say it because I felt like I had to, or because she said it first. I said it because I felt it deep in my heart and I couldn't bear to have her hang up the phone without hearing those four little words: "I love you, mum."


I know many people think that occasions such as Mother's Day are just greedy opportunities for greeting card manufacturers and florists to make a killing on sad saps who need to make a grand statement. To those people I say, what's wrong with letting someone know - even if it is once a year - that you care about them? The world needs more love, not less. And if one day helps someone take pause and tell the people closest to them that they care, is that so bad? No, I don't think so either. It's amazing how a bunch of flowers or a glittery card can make someone feel loved and important. 


I've always been a fan of Mother's Day. But the last two years, my relationship with it has been strained. Marking the occasion without your mum here - to hug, to spoil, to love - is incredibly cruel and painful. I miss going through the motions on this day and every day. I feel like I can no longer take part as intended, that I'm standing on the sidelines watching all the other 'kids' of all ages, doting on their mums. The ache doesn't lessen two years on. It changes a bit, but it's still there and becomes part of you in a strange way. 


If you are fortunate to still have your mum a phone call away, do me a favour and tell her that you love her. But don't just tell her on Mother's Day. Tell her on her birthday. At Christmas. When the flowers in your garden bloom for the first time in Spring. Tell her every time you can - just because you *can*. You can't tell her enough, trust me... because when she's gone, you'll wish more than anything that you could tell her...one more time. 

Stumbling Towards the Inevitable

Is it human nature to find yourself tracking back to where you were a year ago? I'm assuming that it is, especially when a major anniversary is fast on the approach. The desire to compare and contrast where you stand today with where you were twelve months back is one that is at times overpowering, and somewhat inescapable. 


Since last year when I lost my Mum during its watch, March has lost its claims on being a kind, happy corner of the calendar. While I don't want the third month to be all doom and gloom -- especially as there are loved ones birthdays tossed in the March mix -- it generally feels like a cold, black hole. It's a strange feeling.


March for me, used to be that month when the NHL season was winding down. I'd be obsessed with my team's drive towards a playoff berth. The weather would often be teasing us with the first appearance of Spring. Robins would return, and the dirty snowbanks would be in mid-retreat. The first steps back into what felt like a renewed life with plenty of sunshine, warmer temperatures and budding trees was knocking at my door. Possibilities were right around the corner. 

March this year casts a different shadow. It feels...gray. Not just outside my window, but inside as well. Every day I find myself falling back into this time last year, and I get lost in my thoughts. I remember quite clearly what was going on, how everyone was. I wonder if there was anything that I should have done differently. Why didn't I fully realize the signs of what was to come? I try to make myself feel better by stating the obvious - it's so simple to question the past. At the time, we were too busy coping, struggling through daily events to analyze every single thing. Yet, this explanation still provides little comfort. 


The inevitable awaits me in a few weeks time. To say that I dread the occasion is an ignorant understatement. As my Mum would wish, I'm trying to be brave in the face of the worst anniversary imaginable. But like a magnet, drawing its prey ever closer, I cannot escape its pull. I will have to confront this milestone whether I want to, or not. I cannot hide, run away or pretend it isn't happening. Soon it will be here. Just another day for most, but for me it's one that will forever leave its mark on my heart. 

Mum's Birthday

There's a hole in my diary this week, a day that I'm not quite sure what to do with. My Mum's birthday - the first without her. 


Up until last year, I would gladly take the day off. The notion of doing my usual thing, working away the hours on her special day, was just not on. I loved being with her so much. Mum was big on birthdays - for everyone else! She always went out of her way to make our milestones count. We would try to reciprocate the best we could. No matter what we bought, or did, it never felt like enough - I mean, what do you give to the person who loves you more than anything in this world?


This pressure was self-imposed. The presents, a special meal, flowers... Mum loved all that we gave her, but most of all she just loved our company. She valued the hugs, and laughs more than any trinket. We could have appeared on her doorstep empty-handed, and she would have been thrilled. We were there! That's all that mattered. On Mum's birthday for as long as I can remember, I'd spend the day with her. Now that her birthday has arrived, and she's no longer here, what am I supposed to do? 


There's a hole in my diary this week, and an even bigger one in my heart. Happy Birthday, my dear Mum. I miss you. xo


The gorgeous cupcake photo is from the beautiful Cupcake Blog. 

Happy New Year?

In a few short hours, 2010 will be making its hasty exit while 2011 clamors to take pride of place. 


New Year's Eve has never been an occasion that I'm particularly fond of. Going out was always too fraught with stress ... reservations that were never properly honoured, the battle to capture a taxi... it always made more sense to stay in at my Mum's. 


This year will be the first New Year's in a very long time - gosh, we're talking decades - that I haven't marked this milestone in her company.


Unlike many people my age, I never had an issue with spending these holidays with my Mum. She was always so much fun to be around. She loved to play board games, eat calorie-laden naughty foods that you only cook up on such nights, and don silly, sparkly cardboard hats festooned with 'Happy New Year'! We would all struggle to keep our eyelids from closing prematurely but somehow, someway we would just about make it. New Year's Day was always greeted with a brunch of epic proportions: pancakes, bacon, toast, a frittata... and lots of Christmas cookies. We'd watch the Rose Bowl parade, play more games and dip into some of the DVDs that we received from Santa. 


This year will be the first New Year's that I am at home - at my own abode. I really cannot shove 2010 out the door fast enough, for this year was the one that took away my beautiful Mum, and for that crime it has surely overstayed its welcome. 

Christmas Without the Merry

I was told it would be tough.


The first Christmas following the loss of someone so deeply cherished and loved.


I feel like I'm inhabiting someone else's body. Christmas is my favourite time of the year. Always has been. Normally, my tree is up just as our city's Santa Claus parade is wrapping up on TV. I strive to send out Christmas cards no later than December 1st, and search the shops early for the perfect gift wrap, and bows. Cookie baking is a joy, especially as my annual batch of chocolate chip just happen to be my Mum's favourite.  


But not this year. 


Dragging our tree out of storage and painstakingly taking a full day to decorate its branches - my heart wasn't in it. I was happy to be reunited with all my favourite baubles but they deserved more than me going through the motions while I hung them in their pride of place. Instead of hopeful anticipation, I felt sad, detached. Melancholy. 


The tree has been up now for a few weeks and surprisingly, I have all my shopping done (albeit from all online sources - I didn't have the heart to dig through all the cheery crowds in person). On the surface, this holiday appears to be just like all the others. The outside packaging is full of festive spirit and no one is none the wiser. Inside, however, my heart aches from the constant weariness of missing my Mum. All the tinsel and fairy lights wrapped around my tree won't make it heal anytime soon. And those cookies? I haven't been able to cross that threshold yet. Without Mum to enjoy their warm gooey brilliance, it all feels somewhat half-baked. 

Milestone: Six Months

It was fitting that on the six month milestone of my Mum's death it was raining - nonstop, bucketing down. 

The weather was somewhat poetic - mirroring what I was feeling at this half-way point of my first year without Mum. 


A few months ago, I figured that with time I'd feel more settled, more accepting of my Mum's passing.


I still think of Mum most hours of the day. The six month milestone was very difficult, not only the day itself but the lead up to it. Missing her so very very much. Six months on, not much has changed. 


I wish that I could hear her voice one more time.


I wish that I could sit beside her, feel her warm embrace and soft skin.


I wish she was here to enjoy the glorious Summer just passed.


I wish for so many things.... 

Milestone: Arrival of Good News

The other week, I received some exciting news on the job front. 

Since my late teens, I've worked in the media -- in broadcasting, specifically. I lived and breathed this wonderfully creative industry! I was fortunate to work for two incredibly innovative companies -- two of the very best in Canada -- and I was always so proud to be associated with both of them. 

Unfortunately, a short time ago, the broadcast landscape changed. Buy-outs and mergers were the name of the game. After years in the biz, I was laid off. My beloved TV company (my 2nd) was gobbled up by another, and while the successor celebrated its latest triumph, many of us were caught in the first wave of redundancies and kicked to the curb. Well, it wasn't actually that violent, but it sure felt like it at the time. 

It does sound like a cliche, but in many ways the loss of my job, one that I loved so much, turned out in retrospect to be a good thing for me. The company culture changed, many other people were later let go in the layoff undertow that followed and the place was suddenly different. 

Companies change. People move on. Life goes on. Re-invention while tricky at the best of times, is always a positive step. 

I decided to follow my other passion and become a freelance writer.

The new career path started hesitantly. My Mum's illness was one of the reasons why my new gig began with a whisper and not a shout. I wanted to be there for her hospital stay, her subsequent healing at home, and doctors' appointments. At least dabbling in freelance, I could be there for her on my own terms. I didn't have to ask anyone for permission. I didn't have to feel guilty that I was often absent. Being cut free from a 40+ hour a week office job was a very good thing at a time when family must come first. 

My Mum was the first person that I would call when exciting news came my way. She was always my #1 fan. She never had an agenda, or felt obligated to be happy for me. Her joy for my little victories was genuine every single time. Since my Mum passed four months ago, I have had countless instances *daily* when I really wanted to call her up and tell her my news. Most often it would be just minor stuff but still... the stories of everyday life where you share tidbits back and forth. I shared so much with my Mum on a daily basis. Life has felt somewhat hollow without her at the other end of the telephone, or dining room table.

The other week, I received news that one of my pitches to a new potential writing client had been accepted. This news was a huge deal for me - a first step to working for new people, getting more exposure, getting truly in gear for this new career that I am really enjoying. Yet, the one person that I wanted to share it with more than anyone else was not here. Even now when my dialogues with her seem somewhat one sided, I still want to make her proud. Hopefully somewhere, she is. 

Milestone: Mother's Day

Sunday, May 9 is Mother's Day in Canada, the US and Australia. 


For several weeks, I've been avoiding the abundance of Mother's Day shop displays at all costs. For a daughter who year after year loved & participated in this annual tribute to our Mums, it's a strange reaction to have. 


It feels foreign. It feels wrong. I feel like an orphan while everyone else celebrates this meaningful occasion. 


I'm on the cusp of the two month mark. The approach of Mother's Day is making my sadness & loneliness feel even more raw - if that's at all possible. I feel like an outsider looking in on a beloved milestone that was always a highlight on my calendar. 

Milestone: First Birthday

Friends and family much wiser and more experienced than me have hesitantly (and yet, very kindly) told me that the first year after losing your Mum is the most difficult. True to their words I am finding that daily living is proving to be wearisome, fraught with anxiety and melancholy emotions. The reality of not having my Mum a telephone call away pops into my mind repeatedly again and again...and again. Just getting through the day is a job in itself -- a job that I never, ever wanted to occupy, but yet here I am....


The arrival of holidays, anniversaries and annual special events are usually to be looked forward to, the highlights of the year, right? Unfortunately, I am now part of the club that realizes that they bring with them a unique disquiet and pain that the daily grind doesn't recognize. Many of us spend these earmarks in the company of loved ones, and the concept of such occasions without them is just too much to even consider.


My first major event without Mum... my birthday, snuck up on me this past week.