Mothers Day Without Mum

Mothers Day Without Mum

Mother's Day Witout Mum
Learning to carry the love when she’s no longer here.

Mother’s Day used to be a card, a phone call, maybe a small gift and a joke about how hard it was to find something “she didn’t already have.”

This year, it’s quiet.
Too quiet.
Because my mum died last year from a brain tumour.

It still doesn’t feel real.

She wasn’t the overly sentimental type.
She didn’t do fuss.
She didn’t need flowers or poems or tearful speeches.
She wanted truth, loyalty, and people to get on with things.

But she understood me in a way no one else ever has.
Even when I was misunderstood by the rest of the world, she got me.
And even if it didn’t always show, I always needed that.

Sometimes it looked like I didn’t appreciate her.
I know that.
I was stubborn. Independent. Distracted.
Wrapped up in my own world, like so many of us with ADHD and autism.

But she never held that against me.
She didn’t need praise. She just was.
There. Reliable. Constant.

And now she’s not.

Grief has a funny way of showing up.
Sometimes it’s loud and overwhelming.
Other times, it’s just an ache in your chest while you make tea.

On days like today, it’s both.

I keep thinking of things I want to tell her.
Things I wish I’d said more.
Moments I wish I’d noticed, or thanked her for, or asked her about.

She would probably roll her eyes at all this.
Tell me to get a grip.
Then hug me anyway, and offer me a biscuit.

She didn’t need to say “I love you” every day.
She showed it.
In her patience. Her strength. Her ability to hold space when I was falling apart.

I hope I can pass that on.
To the people I work with. To the people I love.
To anyone who’s grieving their mum today—whether she’s gone, or just not the mum they needed.

Mother’s Day is complicated.
But love doesn’t end when life does.

If you’re missing your mum today, I see you.
If your relationship with her was messy, I see you too.

And if you were lucky enough to have someone who truly saw you—even if it didn’t always show in return—hold onto that.
It matters.
It still shapes you, even now.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mum.
I miss you.
And I’ll keep carrying your love forward, the best I can.