Writings by me

I was 11 when my mother died by suicide after a long mental health battle. The trauma does not go, it simply changes, evolves depending on which phase of life I am in. 

At 32 now, mothering without a mum has by far been the hardest phase to navigate. And now I’m entering a new phase; mothering young children who are slowly becoming more and more aware of the fact that their mother lost their mum at a young age.

There are so many motherhood milestones that I’m sure I would have wanted that mother support for. From first learning of our pregnancy, taking it for granted that mum might help us in the delivery room and sharing those lovely mothering firsts with our own mother, it is something that makes me sad on an almost daily basis. 

The actual experience of not having a mother during motherhood is rarely talked about, so it can also be very lonely. It often feels taken for granted that mum will play an additional role of support when you have your own children. But what about when she’s not around to do it? I feel a certain pang when I hear my mum friends mention their own mum in relation to their kids.

It’s also not just me that lost something; my kids will never know her. Though I have always encouraged questions about my mum and tried to incorporate her into our lives in small ways, that is still the simple truth. Therefore, a constant theme of my mothering has centred on how to keep her memory alive and often feeling guilty when I don’t do enough. From candles, to visits to memorable places, to trying to do the same activities, it is a happy, yet sad part of my mothering. 

As Freddie gets older, there are times when his questions can’t be answered. Because I was so young when she died, many of my memories are tainted by the sadness of her death, by this dreadful feeling of a relationship stuck in time. And unfortunately, my memories are patchy, random. I no longer remember what she was like, which is what Freddie focuses on when he asks me questions; I remember specifically how she made me feel. Loved, special, a beautiful, inseparable closeness.

It’s not all bad though; having children has helped me deal with the rejection I felt after she died and still feel flickers of every now and again. As you might expect, losing a parent to suicide left me with the question: ‘why wasn’t I enough?’ 

Having my own children and losing myself in the love of them made me realise that her death was never about me, she had just had a hard life and her pain was too great to overcome.

So this is to all those mums out there mothering without a mum; make contact if you wish, because it’s hard and as with everything in this world of parenting, it’s best when we’re doing it together.