Many years ago, I found myself skimming through the local newspaper, reading Mother’s Day greetings and thinking how sweet it all was. Everyone’s mum is, or was, the best mother of all time, which proves that she did her job well. Then I came across one message which had the most unfortunate typo. Instead of wishing ‘my dear mum’, the newspaper had managed to refer to ‘my dead mum’ which, I have to say, made me laugh out loud. I think my own dear mum would have found it funny too, if she didn’t happen to be dead.
If I was a cynical person – perish the thought! – I might suggest that actually Mother’s Day exists for the benefit of florists, greeting card shops and all the other businesses which cash on the big day. According to Wikipedia, so it must be true, ‘Mother’s Day continues to be one of the most commercially successful U.S. occasions.’ That would be alongside Father’s Day, Christmas, Easter and all these other special days claimed by religion to be their own. What starts in America always ends up in the UK. For Mother’s Day, think of McDonalds, Black Friday and Trick or Treat.
I like the idea of people respecting their elders, not least when they deserve respect. Those parents, mothers in this case, who have guided their children from birth onwards and helped steer them to academic and professional success, but more importantly to become decent, loving human beings. In so many ways, you are what your parents made you. Read into that what you will!
If people do send heavenly greetings to dead mothers, what’s wrong with that? I know that many find solace and comfort in believing that people have survived their own death and gone to Heaven where one day they will all meet again and live forever. While I am firmly of the view that death means death, the end of life, and that no one gets out of here alive, I do understand that this finality is too much for some people to bear. Whatever works for you.
I have to be honest and say that I don’t spend too much of my time wistfully looking back to when my mum was still alive. When she died, after many years, decades, of terrible pain, it was a blessing in many ways. No one wishes death on a parent, but seeing them suffer can be as painful as death itself. My wish for her to be at peace and free of pain trumped by selfish desire for her to carry on living what felt like hell on earth. But I am me, I am not you.
Later today, I may raise a glass of single malt to my dead mother. Whisky was certainly her favourite tipple. And, as we always say, it’s what she would have wanted.
