I recently read on an Instagram page I follow for women who have lost their mothers and while usually I tend to scroll past, vaguely acknowledging that that technically refers to me, I tend to distance myself from it and these women who are acutely grieving and can’t seem to ‘get over it’ – harsh right? I thought that I was over it and the worst had passed. And then I saw this post and it was a woman who had lost her mother and had been told to ‘get over it’ by having a child, perhaps a daughter of her own and it would fill the loss or void.

What a load of absolute ****shit. I mean, I think anyone see that for the steaming pile of crap that it is, whether they have children or not. Do people actually realise how difficult and scary it is to raise a child or children without your own parent present or around? I am not talking about or alluding to the so-called ‘perks’ of free-ish childcare or shipping them off for a weekend to the grandparents to have some alone time with your spouse or even a moment to yourself.

No, I mean the scary rollercoaster that is being a parent. Responsible for an entire other being and that responsibility starts when they are at their most vulnerable and dependent, as a new-born baby.

A part of you goes missing and dies when you lose a parent, regardless of age (I was twenty-six years old) and somehow you’ve got to find that missing part or come to terms with the gaping hole and somehow accept it. I did a lot of work on myself, dealing with my grief before having a child and as well as during pregnancy, to work through just how I was going to do this without my confidante, the woman who knew me inside-out and back-to-front (even when she didn’t which was also a revelation in itself and one that threw me). I was now stepping into a role, for my own daughter in the way that my mother was no longer there for me. It was obnoxious how much turmoil and sadness that brought with it.

And it doesn’t fade. It ebbs and becomes almost forgotten as life gets busy and time passes and the hours and days are long, but then inexplicably something will rear it’s head and you will wish, wish, wish, beyond anything that you can pick up the phone and say “Mammy, she has a fever of 39.9. I have no idea what to do. I am scared, beyond exhausted, snapping at my husband and just don’t know what to do”. I’d give anything for the comforting words: “It’s okay sweetheart, I’ll be right over” or “Here’s what you do and definitely do not to that!” But I don’t get to do that or have that. I am not even sure I would call her (I probably would) but having the choice or even the option to do it the following morning, is something that is just taken away from me. We’re on our own and while being an expat contributes to that, her death has irrevocably made the ultimate decision for me.

It’s the bigger picture somehow that bamboozles me though: My life with a child right now, is not how I imagined it when I was 10 years old and playing with my dolls. I assumed the usual: my parents (grandparents), at least one of my own grandmothers alive, my siblings nearby raising their kids popping by to have coffee. I didn’t imagine my sister, brother, father and I living in 3 different countries (4 at one point) and seeing each other once a year. None of us expected our mother to be permanently gone, and this vast canyon of space, that she left behind, to be there. None us expected to have to deal so soon after her death with a slowly, slowing down, yet stubborn, father.

I helped host and attended a baby shower of a very close friend of mine recently. Both her sisters were there and they were laughing softly together about something, and one sister reached out and touched my friend’s perfect bump. My friend’s grandmother who had been quietly observing from across the room, stood up and made her way over to her granddaughters. Small of stature, she barely reached above my friend’s elbow, but she gently placed her own hand on the bump, as if to reassure her great-granddaughter and her granddaughter that she was here, but more than that it was like she was passing a maternal, soothing energy to both of them. She then quietly, without saying a word, walked back to her seat and sat down as my friend continued chatting to her sisters.

For me, as an observer across the room felt like I was hit by a cannonball right in the chest. I felt that time had momentarily stopped and suspended as I watched this beautiful, maternal interaction and it was almost like a scene in an old movie. I felt so undeniably happy – like tears-threatening happy – for my friend that she had this support, this network, this immense love, this maternal and feminine energy surrounding her and her little unborn daughter and yet I also felt the pang of sadness that I didn’t get to have that. In that moment I didn’t just miss my mother, I acutely missed my own grandmother who passed away only a year ago.

Later on, party over, my friend’s family gathered around her: her mother, her father, her husband, her sisters, and her grandmother, and I felt the tears threaten again. There was gentle laughter, teasing, plans about the future and overall just again a beautiful moment to be witness to. I basked in the secondary energy of the love and laughter and happiness and joy being shown, and felt lucky even if I didn’t have it for myself. Driving home that evening, I just felt such a mix of emotions – it’s not that I wished for that exact moment (each situation brings it’s own stresses), but when times get tough, having that comforting cushion of unconditional maternal or even love, is just irreplaceable. The comfort and love and affection I give my daughter, is sometimes what I miss for myself from not having my mother nearby – even if it were at the other end of a phone-call.

Fast forward today, and the reason for all of these images and emotions surfacing again, is having been to my daughter’s Kindergarten and being shown photos of another child’s “family book” (it’s a little booklet made up of photos of the family members that the young children can see regularly so when they’re upset they can look at it and stop crying- well that’s the idea anyway!). I sit there and think “Oh that’s sweet…” instantly followed by “Who the hell am I supposed to put in there?”

And that is what has inspired this particular flood of words and emotions, because such a small thing – innocuous really – has triggered me into realising that having a child is not just about “getting” over grief or losing someone you loved. You loved that person for who they were and while it is my belief that time can heal, it never fully goes away. The advice to have a child to “get over” a death, to “fix” a relationship, to “have something to do”, is just mind boggling.

I am glad to say however though, after much procrastination, mini-panic attacks and several ‘gentle’ reminders from the teachers, we did put together a little book of photos – of aunts and uncles, her grandfather, us and of course Sarah the dog and it has worked wonderfully when she has been upset that she can look at family that absolutely adore her.