My mother never carried me in her womb. Some other woman gave birth to me.
She was not the person who held me for the first time, or wiped away my very first tears. My mother never changed my first diapers or gave me my first bottles.
My mother never even saw my face until I was a month old. But from that moment on, I was the world to her, and no other has shaped the person I am today, more than, my mother.
I don’t have her blood running through my veins, but I have her spirit directing me daily.
Her DNA would not be a match to mine, but as far as friendships go, we were a match made in heaven.
She believed more in me that I have ever been able to believe in myself. There was nothing that she felt I couldn’t achieve if I so desired, and she never missed an opportunity to tell me so.
Like many mothers, she did so much for me. She cared for me when I was sick (and I was sick a lot). She comforted me in times of need. It was her loving hand on the segments of my broken heart, gentling piecing them back together, when they had broken far apart. Kisses on the forehead that soothed away the nightmares, came directly from her lips, as did the words of wisdom when guidance was required.
She was a wonderful mother for all of these reasons…. but for one reason alone did she stand apart from the rest….
She listened to me.
My opinions were not only valued but they were actively sort out. My mother loved to hear me ponder things out loud. To postulate on the meaning of life, or my ideas regarding the nature of reality. And no matter how “out there” my theories were… she always listened intently, and took seriously my every thought. She never laughed at me. Or belittled me. And she always made me feel clever and wise and interesting. I don’t think there is another who has done that for me, in quite the same way as her.
Easter Sunday was the last time I saw my mother alive. She crossed over that evening, and whilst I still feel her presence in my life there is still not a day that goes by that I don’t miss her physicality. The ability to give and receive a hug, a kiss, a spoken word.
When my grandfather died several decades ago, my mother told me that he would never be gone as long as my father walked the Earth. I like to think that my mother will never truly be gone, as long as I am here to carry on her legacy… to be the kind of person that she always knew I could be. I can only hope that my own children will look back on their experience of me, with the same love and deep sense of gratitude that I have for my mother.
She never gave me life in the biological sense of the word…. but she gave much more than that. She made me who I am. And she taught me love.
I miss you every day mummy ♥