On Friday, I was asked whether I was doing anything special for Mothers' Day. My reply? Not really. We're going to my Mother-in-Law's for a family lunch. It will be nice but I'm not really big on the whole Mothers' day thing. I want my kids to love me every day and vice versa. And my husbands really helpful at home all the time (please don't hate me, I know I'm lucky). And one of my children is missing (less lucky). And my Mum emigrated to Australia when I was 14 and I hated Mothers' Day for quite a long time.
Today? I'm up with Pickle early. He's being a delight. I go for a run before Wotsit wakes up. (I never run far (or fast) (or often) but I love it. 30 minutes of solitude, if I run on my own. Or 30 minutes of therapy, if I run with my friend.) I drive for 5 minutes so I can run my favourite route. On the way back, I had no concious intention of stopping at the church (Monkey's ashes are there) but I did. I welled up, shed a few tears and was comforted a bit by a woodpecker.
I got back and the boys were having their breakfast. I told my husband something had made me stop at the church and I'd cried and Pickle pipes up:
'Why did you cry Mum?'
I had a lump in my throat I can normally contain. 'Because Monkey's not here Pickle and I wish he was. But when I came in and saw you two eating your breakfast so beautifully, you made me smile a really big smile'
'You musn't cry Mummy, me and Oliver haven't died yet'.
And I didn't cry anymore and we've had a lovely day.