Now, it's not often that I'll take to the blog to complain. Hardly ever, in fact. But this time I have a point to make. And it's an important one. You see, it's Mother's Day tomorrow. Of course, every supermarket, card shop, chocolate shop and gift shop has been loudly crowing the fact to the heavens, insistent that we buy "that special gift for that special lady".
And I read this, glowingly proclaimed on the final page of the Telegraph magazine today:
"It's the stuff we don't say.
The pauses.
The squeeze of the arm.
The small hand finding the big one.
The half-hug.
Not many of us say "it" to our Mums.
We dutifully phone them every week.
We remember their birthdays.
We care about them - but we don't actually tell them.
It's just something of a given.
A glue that holds the world together.
But today is the day we come out with it.
We tell our Mum how good she is.
We say "I love you" without putting on a comedy accent.
It's the day of crinkly petrol station flowers, and last minute phone calls.
Homemade cards, chocolates and lukewarm tea from six-year-olds.
It's the day we tell her that we care.
That we know how much she's done for us.
And that she can finish our sentences - just this once.
But when all this is over.
When the Sunday becomes the Monday.
When the carnations droop and only coffee creams remain.
Our Mums will still be there.
Waiting. Listening. Helping.
With the hands that hold it all together.
Shouldn't every day be Mother's day?"
Now, I happen to think this is rather sweet. Really quite touching. Although there are others who may think it's a very cynical piece of marketing. That it bears no relation to my Mother, to your Mother, or anyone's Mother. That some copywriter has sat down and thought "let's exploit Mother's Day and tug on a few heartstrings". Cynical.
However, some people may think it's a beautiful piece of writing. That is, if their Mother happens still to be alive.
If, like many people, including myself, you have lost her, then it is simply a knife to the heart. Twisting mercilessly.
Just to be clear, I have nothing against Mother's Day. In fact, I agree with the sentiments of the writing above. We should tell our Mothers every day how much they mean to us, how thankful we are for their presence, their love and their comfort. We should, and anyone who doesn't should be ashamed of themselves.
But....(and there's always a but)
As the daughter of a dead Mother, this kind of thing is like reopening a wound that refuses to heal. The wound opens, and daily life rubs against it, like too tight shoes on a blister.
I'm not saying that we shouldn't celebrate Mother's day, quite the contrary.
But I think we should also spare a thought for all those who have lost their Mothers, who, instead of making breakfast, delivering flowers, sending cards and giving chocolates, will be visiting a grave, perhaps tidying up the grass which has overgrown it a little, putting flowers in a jam jar, and remembering, perhaps with sadness, perhaps with regret, but certainly with a huge sense of loss.
So to all those people out there who have made Mother's Day about selling products, think. Stop and think, just for a moment. And remember what it's really all about.
As for me? I will be one of those visiting a grave tomorrow. Luckily, with Wonderful Man at my side. But I will be there, putting flowers in a jam jar, tidying the stray grass.
And missing my Mum.
