With Mother’s Day fast approaching, I’m writing an open letter to mums who have lost the most important person in their lives…
I remember having a teacher in school who used to say that when you struggle to write, you should just write whatever comes to mind. You keep doing that until you land on something with substance.
I have been putting off writing this op-ed for so long, but this pressing Mother’s Day deadline is creeping up on me, and time is not on my side. So, here I am, writing my ‘whatever comes to mind’ and hoping it will turn into something remotely good.
I still need to iron and fold my laundry, find a new show to watch since I recently finished The Sopranos and accept that the coconut milk I bought for my coffee really sucks.
”Remember the little moments that were good”
Speaking of The Sopranos (and desperately grasping at strands to make a transition into what I actually want to write about), there is an episode where AJ tries to commit suicide and his family is heartbroken. The scene itself is, of course, triggering, but what hit me the most was Carmela’s, AJ’s mum’s, reaction to the situation. When she cried, I cried.
Some of you might think, “Well, it’s just a show,” but see for me it acted as a lead-up to this piece. And curiously, as my ‘whatever comes to mind’.
So here I am, writing a letter to those who have lost their daughters and sons – to those who see Mother’s Day as a harsh reminder that the life they gave is no longer, and as mums, they are no longer. There is no greater loss than the loss of a child, and there is no greater pleasure in life than the little, boring, and insignificant moments with your closest.
A loss of any kind is hard to bear, but what I have learned through the course of my life is that time is your friend. Time has the beauty of replacing painful memories with beautiful ones, and memories are yours and only yours – something you get to treasure forever.
A Letter to Mums – This Too Shall Pass
Having lost a very dear friend not too long ago, I found it incredibly painful to walk the streets we walked and see the sights we had seen together. But now, a good few months down the line, my sadness has been replaced with fondness and an intense feeling of gratitude – to have known them, talked to them, spent time with them, and called them a friend.
May the little, beautiful, and even boring memories light up your day on 30 March (or 4 May, if you’re in Lithuania), and may time work overtime to heal all your wounds.