After Mother Loss, Anniversary, Being Kind, Childhood grief, Death, Family, Grief, Moments, Mother Loss, Motherless Daughter, Moving forward after loss, Sad anniversaries

When Anniversaries Are Sad

Today (August 11th) is significant for two reasons.

Mam & Dad married on this date at home in Ireland in ’73. I have a photo of them on their special day enlarged and framed in our home. The picture represents happiness, genuine love & beautiful promise. Coincidentally Dad & I were the same age (39) when each of us got married. (We both waited patiently until we found ‘the one’.) In 1988 my mother died. Sometimes I glance through my parent’s wedding album. The photos, mostly in black and white, reflect so much joy and hope. My parent’s union was built on mutual respect and a devotion which saw Mam through her illness, my father by her side.

This next photograph is of me and my Granny on our birthday in Galway. I think I might have been 7 years of age in that picture. We shared the same birth date, January 3, and always celebrated together. This is the second reason for today’s significance: on this day (August 11th) 30 years ago Granny (Dad’s mother) died suddenly. I was only 12 when she was taken from us, the year after Mam lost her battle with cancer.

So, in my early years I came face to face with happy, celebratory occasions & brutal, devastating days. I knew what was possible. Life was often terribly sad. Honestly, I feel hard done by having lost so many significant people at such a young age. It’s not easy to admit that but it’s true. Often people go through life surrounded by close family & a tight community of loved ones who share a history. Those of us who learn trauma in our youth carry it inside of us even as it appears we are thriving. In fact loneliness, anxiety and fear are part of our everyday lives. Loneliness specifically for our loved ones who have died. We also tend to be sensitive, compassionate and alert and appreciative of people and moments. But we always crave our people. My mother is irreplaceable because she was my mother & she raised me.

Life is complicated & so are our emotions & our reactions to our experiences. We get on with things but we never get over major losses. We simply do our best to be our best. In honor of my parents, my beloved mother and Granny Walshe, I try hard to live my best life. Granny & Mam faced several challenges of their own but they were both strong, capable and happy women. They are an inspiration to me & I am grateful to them for everything. I just wish they were still here because I’ve been craving some maternal hugs from those women whose lineage I descend from. It has been over thirty years…

This is all to say let’s look out for each other and try to be patient in the face of trauma and grief. Keep an eye on those little sweethearts who lose a significant person early on in life. Please be there for them if you can. Create a space for them to talk or just be themselves. They are scared and in shock and they will need a lot of support. Also, if you do still have your folks and/or grandparents and you love them, let them know, or go spend some quality time with them. And, if you know someone who has grieved and lost try not to assume that their people are replaceable. They are not. And they won’t ever get over the loss. They’ll get on, but they’ll be sad about it, forever. Some days or occasions will be more challenging than others. Their reactions to certain things might stem from their early losses. You might see no connection but the connection is obvious to the bereaved (or sometimes it isn’t).They are angry but the anger might look like something else. It’s complicated.

You never know what’s going on in another person’s life. Let’s be gentle with each other and ourselves. Our hearts continue to love every day but this powerful organ is also fragile and often bruised. Kindness goes a long way.

Some of us hold a store of sad anniversaries in our hearts, significant dates that circle around year after year. We don’t know what to do with these dates or how to acknowledge them. Today I’m honoring the memories by writing about it. I’m remembering my parents and their beautiful, happy day. I’m thinking of Granny and how in the photo we wore the exact same colors though it wasn’t planned, and how thrilled she was when I was born on January 3. These days of interesting coincidences carry sadness for me, but also joy and gratitude. Captured in these pictures are moments filled with delight, hope and surprise. Each one of us lives for moments such as these, every moment creating a unique life and offering us precious memories. I reflect on the memories and each is rich with love. For that, and for so much else, I am grateful.

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

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Death, Family, Grief, Grief stories, Mother Loss, Mother's Day, Mother's Day Without My Mother, Motherless Daughter, Motherless mother's day, Support groups

Getting Through Mother’s Day Without a Mother

When my mother died in Ireland in 1988 I did not know a single child (other than my older brother) whose mother had also died. Every child I knew had a mother and that meant I was different. I had nobody to talk to who understood what it felt like for a little girl of eleven to have lost her mother. As I’ve previously mentioned in my writing I had, and still have, a wonderful, supportive and loving father in my life who was happy to talk about my mother and keep her beautiful memory alive in our home. I am the capable, loving, independent person I am today because my father stayed by my side, guiding me and loving me through it all. I will always be grateful for him.

That said, it is refreshing to see an increase in the number of grief support groups online and an acceptance and appreciation of what these groups offer. Vulnerability is no longer seen as a weakness. People who wish to share their stories of heartbreak and loss now have several platforms from which to share. I often receive messages thanking me for my blog posts and though I’ve never met most of these people I can now see that there are people who understand. I had no idea that so many women lost their mothers when they were young children because back then I knew of nobody my age or even a little older, in my position. Now that we are all more connected through technology I see how our heart stories help others. Our experiences can guide and empower those who feel alone and afraid. Why should people feel alone in their grief when death and grieving is a natural part of the life cycle?

We shouldn’t feel alone. It is devastating, anxiety-producing and lonely to lose your mother as a child. Until we talk about it we carry that trauma around in our bodies. The more we talk openly about death and loss the better off as a society we are. I wrote A LOVELY WOMAN to show others what a child’s journey through anxiety, mother loss and grief looks like. I turned out okay. I got through school and I earned two college degrees. I taught young children in elementary and kindergarten for thirteen years and I am married to a wonderful man. I’m happy and grateful for the life I have. But there have been struggles over the years as a result of losing Mam. It’s helpful to find your tribe.

If you haven’t yet found an online grief support group following your mom’s death or if your friends can’t relate to your feelings, or if you just want to work through this grief period alone for a while, here are some suggestions for getting through Mother’s Day.

Online grief support groups and pages dedicated to grief and loss are popping up and thousands of people are joining them. More people are open to sharing their heart stories while offering support and comfort to fellow grievers. These communities are welcoming and supportive. Here are a few of my favorites (I include my own pages in the list):

  • A Lovely Woman is where I blog regularly about mother loss, early childhood loss and grief.
  • My Facebook author page offers support, inspiration and healing to women who have experienced mother loss & to all grievers worldwide.
  • Hope Edelman has a website dedicated to her work in the field of mother loss and grief. On her site she lists statewide support groups for those missing their mothers. She also has a public Facebook page where she shares a wealth of information and stories pertaining to grief and loss.
  • Mother Loss International is a Facebook page offering community, support and kindness.
  • Without My Mum hosted by Leigh Van Der Horst, author of  the book ‘Without My Mum.’ Opportunity to join a private group on this page.
  • Motherless Daughters is a page dedicated to mother loss with supportive posts and comments by a community of over 400,000 followers.
  • Grief Rites Foundation is a Portland based community movement where people openly share their grief stories.
  • Modern Loss offers candid content, community and resources on loss and grief. These ladies organize the ANNUAL MOTHER’S DAY SWAP.
  • Modern Loss closed group for the Modern Loss community.
  • OptionB.Org offers the tools you need to build resilience after grief and trauma. There are opportunities here to join specific groups for solidarity and support and find information from experts.
  • Motherless Daughters Virtual Support Group is a global support network hosted by my friend Adrienne for women who have experienced mother loss.
  • Project Brave Birds is a page run by my friend Cheryl where the journeys and achievements of inspirational motherless women are celebrated.
  • Meetup.com offers an opportunity to find or organize your own Motherless Daughter group. I found the Portland group through Meet Up many years ago and became organizer for one year.
  • The Imaginary Library on Instagram is one woman’s beautifully illustrated and relatable grief-journey.
  • Motherless Daughter’s Early Mother Loss Group on Facebook is wonderfully supportive.
  • Claire Bidwell Smith is an author and grief therapist. Claire frequently shares personal stories of her own grief journey on her beautiful Instagram page.

Suggestions for Mother’s Day weekend include:

  • Try writing a healing letter to your mother on Mother’s Day. It might allow you to feel closer to her, and less alone. I give some suggestions on how to attempt this on my blog.
  • See if any of these book suggestions might help. Make yourself a warm cup of tea, settle into a cozy chair and put your feet up. Some of these books will make you cry, others will allow you to feel less alone. All of them helped me in one way or another.
  • Hope sometimes hosts a free 30-minute conference call for motherless daughters the day before Mother’s Day. Check out her page for details.
  • Motherless Mother’s Day Ceremony to be held in Portland, Oregon. Suggestions for participation are given on the page for those unable to attend in person. Or perhaps hold your own.
  • Give to a charity in honor of your mother or volunteer for an organization where your expertise is appreciated. Examples include EmpowerHer, Womenforwomen, Girl’s Inc., The Dougy Center and Camp Erin.
  • If you’re in Australia check out this fabulous idea Trees For Mum.
  • Take a look at my blog post and see if any of these twelve ideas help.
  • Most of all be kind to yourself.
  • Share my blog post What Not to Do When Someone You Know Has Lost Their Mother. It’s one of my most popular blogs but I’ve a feeling it’s mostly us motherless daughters who are reading and sharing it! 🙂

Sending big hugs and lots of love to you this Mother’s Day. Notice the soft breeze on your cheek, listen to bird song in the trees, take time to breathe and give yourself some sweet care. Listen for the whisper of your mother’s voice. Her love is with you today and always. Speak to her. Place your hand on your heart. That’s where she is.

Much love,

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

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Anniversary, Death, Family, Grief, Grief stories, Love, Mother Loss, Motherless Daughter

Thirty Years Without My Mother

On March 2nd, 1988 my dear mother, Kathleen, passed away. I was eleven and my brother was a couple of years my senior. My family stuck together through everything. In this way I feel fortunate. Dad, heartbroken but always kind and present, guided us through the tough times with a gentle, open heart. We didn’t see therapists or read about grief, we just plowed forward with determination and love. I don’t know if there were therapists around in Ireland in those days. Nobody spoke about therapists. Things are probably different now, although I’m not sure about that, but back in those days if a person saw a therapist they were seen as weak, or weird. That isn’t the reason we didn’t seek one out. The thought just wouldn’t have crossed our minds. And I didn’t know of any books about grief or mother loss either, though that is something I wished for. I secretly longed to read a book about a little girl my own age whose mother was sick and died. I wanted to know what another eleven year old girl would do in similar circumstances. Concerns about my impending years of puberty and how I’d tackle each obstacle without my mother took up space in my mind and I wanted to feel like I had a friend, even if that friend was a character in a book whose story was similar to mine.

I never did find that book. It wasn’t until many years later, as an adult, that I came across a book on the subject of mother loss. And, I’ve seen a therapist on a couple of occasions but honestly I never felt that I needed grief counseling. For certain, grief counseling can help people. It just wasn’t what I needed. Or perhaps I didn’t find the right person. Maybe the timing was off. Maybe?

Growing up I could talk to my father about anything and I relied on him for love and care. He never let me down. We often spoke about Mam, and we still do. I was always permitted to look through her things, wear her clothes if I wished and explore her belongings. It brought Dad happiness to see me enjoy what she had. I wear one of her rings every day. In fact, it’s a ring that my father bought for her. And on my wedding day in 2016 I wore a beautiful brooch of hers, as well as that special ring. In our household we keep the memory of my beautiful, much-loved mother alive to this day and that has brought us a lot of comfort down through the years. We were able to move on with our lives, creating new experiences and memories, while treasuring openly the woman at the center of our lives.

It’s hard to imagine that Mam is gone from us thirty years today. She was a vibrant, beautiful spirit in her healthy days, and a courageous, kind human-being during those tough years. There have been several stages of getting through the loss of my mother these past thirty years. For the first few years I focused on being strong and happy, for my family’s sake, for Dad’s sake and for my own sake. And I was genuinely happy many of those days. Dad kept us occupied and busy, we had friends and a comfortable home, albeit without Mam. Although I didn’t admit it at the time, or understand it then, I did feel a sense of relief following my mother’s death because we had watched her suffer for such a long time. It was really hard on all of us to watch that. For many years we hoped, we believed, we prayed, but it went on too long and there was too much pain. After she died I was broken-hearted and dazed, but there was a lightness there. This is a difficult thing to explain to anybody who hasn’t watched someone they love suffer for a long period of time and it’s even harder to admit to ourselves. And of course now I long for even one more minute with her. What a miracle that would be!

Going through puberty posed challenges for sure. There were good days and there were hard days. I wanted to ask Mam so many questions. My friends and I surmised together but I longed to ask my mother about stuff. I wanted to know what her responses would be. My friends told me I wouldn’t ask Mam private things even if she were alive, but I knew that I would.

In my mid to late twenties I experienced deep sadness and regret over not having a mother because I wanted the woman to woman relationship that I witnessed other women my age enjoying. I craved having a mother to love me in the particular way only a mother can and I knew my mother, a nurturing, loving person, would have offered that. I missed her and I felt terribly hard done by. It was during this phase that I saw some psychic healers. The caring female healers, who appeared to have the ability to connect with my mother’s spirit, offered much comfort. What each one told me about Mam soothed me and I felt certain her spirit was close by at all times. Shortly after this time I began writing about my loss and connecting with other motherless daughters.

There are times when I feel the pangs of sorrow and I wish Mam had been granted a much longer life than what she was given. She would be eighty years old had she lived. But I allow myself to think and talk about her every day. Writing about her over the years has really helped me. I started this blog two years ago on this date and am happy to have connected with so many motherless daughters who have read and related to what I have shared. We all have our own stories, but we find pieces of our stories in other’s experiences. It has helped me to connect with other motherless daughters and grieving individuals who reach out for a sense of comfort and community. I have a memoir written, A LOVELY WOMAN, that I hope might help others understand the journey of grief, in particular from the viewpoint of a young girl who is acquainted with suffering and loss from an early age. All grief journeys are different but those of us who have lost a loved one experience similar emotions. We are constantly riding the waves of emotions. It’s in no way linear.

People ask if it will get better or easier over time, if they will ever stop missing the person they loved and lost. I lost my mother thirty years ago and I can say this; things do get easier eventually, the weight of the loss does lighten, but the void will always be there. I never stopped missing Mam and some years were harder than others. Why particular years were harder depended on phases and experiences in my life. Again, the grief journey isn’t linear. Some moments are heavy and sad, while others are filled with beauty and joy. Life is but a collection of moments. We must find ways to move through these. Don’t take on too much at a time. Getting through a moment is easier than getting through a day or a week or a year. Find something beautiful in a moment and go with that into the next. Hold that person in your heart, keep them in your thoughts, but live as best you can in each precious moment.

The sadness we experience in grief is borne out of the love that grew within us for that particular person. Love is a tremendous gift. My mother and father showed me the true meaning of love by loving each other deeply and in their unconditional love for their children. I keep a photograph of my mother in a beautiful vintage style frame on a table in our hallway along with several items of beauty; candles, plants, fresh flowers and a bowl of lavender. I pass this pretty table frequently, glancing at Mam’s smiling happy face as I carry on with my day. Her spirit is with with me, I can feel it. No, it’s not the same as having her here in person; chatting together over a cup of tea, offering each other suggestions, my mother singing in her sweet voice, but it’s a comfort to me nonetheless. Mam has a prominent place in my heart, to this day, thirty years following her death, and a prominent place in our home.

Much love,

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

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Childhood grief, Coco, Death, Family, Grief, Grief Writing, Love, Mother Loss, Motherless Daughter, Remembering the Dead

‘Coco’ Reminds Us to Remember the Dead

My husband suggested I might like to see the new Pixar movie, Coco. Since we don’t go to many movies I wondered why he thought I would like Coco. After he mentioned that the film addressed the theme of death and the afterlife I was intrigued. We went to see it a few days ago and I’ve been reflecting on it since. A culturally sensitive and family-friendly animated film set in Mexico; Coco is centered on death, the importance of family and the legacy we leave behind. Coco takes place during the Day of the Dead when according to Mexican tradition, or as interpreted by the film writers, those who have passed over to the other side are allowed to cross back over to the land of the living so long as someone from the living world remembers them. Miguel, a young boy from the charming Mexican village of Santa Cecilia, crosses a bridge made of marigold petals and slips into the underworld on Dia de los Muertos. Coco is the name of Miguel’s great-grandmother, who turns out to be the heart of the story. This is not a scary movie. The afterlife is portrayed as colorful and primarily cheerful where decorative skeletons take part in fiestas and alebrijes or spirit animals spread their wings and fly.

I enjoyed everything about this film, but what touched me most of all was when Miguel came to understand the importance of family, including generations past, and the gift of remembering those who have gone before us. Miguel forges a bond with his deceased ancestors in the afterlife where he learns that if a dead person is forgotten by everyone alive, they die for a second time, and nobody knows where those spirits end up. Coco packs an emotional wallop and I was moved to tears as the young boy, back in the living world, tries to help silent Mama Coco recall the father who loved her. Miguel wants more than anything to help keep the memory of the dead alive.

This beautiful film caused me to reflect on our current traditions surrounding death. In Ireland, where I was born and raised, and here in the USA, we have a funeral for the deceased, and a burial or a cremation, or some memorial immediately following the person’s death. However, after that we don’t celebrate those who have gone before us, at least not to the extent that people do for Dia de los Muertos. In Ireland we have memorial masses once a year, if a family chooses to do this in honor of the deceased. My father requests this every year for my mother, and her name is in the local mass bulletin around the anniversary of her passing. This is meaningful and important. We want our loved ones to be remembered. But there is something beautiful and celebratory about a multi-day holiday which focuses on gatherings of family and friends to pray for and remember friends and family members who have died. The intent of Dia de los Muertos is to help support their spiritual journey and encourage visits by the souls.

Assured that the dead would be insulted by mourning or sadness, Dia de los Muertos celebrates the lives of the deceased with food, drink, parties, and activities the dead enjoyed in life. Dia de los Muertos recognizes death as a natural part of the human experience, a continuum with birth, childhood, and growing up to become a contributing member of the community. On Dia de los Muertos, the dead are also a part of the community, awakened from their eternal sleep to share celebrations with their loved ones. (National Geographic)

I love this idea. The dead are honored with ofrendas-small, private altars honoring each person. Ofrendas often have flowers, candles, the favorite foods and beverages of the departed, photos, and personal mementos of the person being remembered.

In Ojai with Hope Edelman, Claire Bidwell Smith and a small group of motherless daughters we each had the opportunity to display photographs of our mothers on a table decorated with flowers and candles. The moment was precious and significant. I think we should do this kind of thing more often. We should celebrate openly those who have passed on. Sometimes these occasions will be sad and sometimes, depending on many factors, these ceremonies will be joyous and comforting.

We who have lost loved ones yearn for the sense of their presence with us. The times when we share with others our memories of someone we loved and lost leaves us feeling nostalgic but energized because we can speak of these people who are still alive in our memories, the people we wish were still alive on earth today. These experiences warm and strengthen us as we discuss life, loved ones, loss and all that we know. Coco shows us that even after death, the spirit (and love) lingers on. In my writing I keep my mother’s memory alive every day. And I have framed photographs of her in several rooms around our home. Perhaps I’ll create a family collage next, consisting of photos of my grandparents, my uncles and loved ones who have crossed over to the other side.

Coco is an emotional film. It is also reassuring, visually appealing, thought-provoking and family friendly. For a child struggling to understand the death of a loved one this film offers an insight into how memories can keep the deceased alive in our minds. A respectful, realistic and beautiful portrayal of family life and customs in Mexico, Coco has a lot to offer. Spirit animals, dances with the dead, celebratory memorials…there is much to explore here. Death isn’t necessarily the end. I cried while watching Coco, but it was a good-feeling cry. There is much to be celebrated.

Much love,

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

The dead are not distant or absent. They are alongside us. When we lose someone to death, we lose their physical image and presence; they slip out of visible form into invisible presence. This alteration of form is the reason we cannot see the dead. But because we cannot see them does not mean that they are not there. (John O’Donohue -Our Departed Loved Ones)
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A Father's Role, Family, Gratitude, Grief, Love, Mother Loss, Motherless Daughter, The Importance of Family

The Important Role My Dad Played in My Life Following My Mother’s Death.

My dad is the reason I am a well-adjusted, grateful, loving and happy person today. I have no doubt about it. Sure, I have my down days. There are days when the developments in our world deeply upset me. I truly wonder at the human race. There are several occasions when I miss my mother who died when I was only eleven years old. I feel angry and ripped off and lonely for her and for the person she would be today. I crave the companionship of my mother when I have questions only she could answer, or when I see a mother and daughter out to lunch or sharing a dressing room in a boutique that I know Mam would have enjoyed. I miss Mam often throughout my days. It’s a given. I loved and I lost. But I have to say that I feel truly, unimaginably blessed to have the father I have. Who would I have become without his love and guidance down through the years? I don’t know. I don’t wish to know.

My mother chose well when she chose Dad. She married in her mid-thirties having waited until she was sure she had found the right man. She had. My dad is a gem and she knew that. I wish I could ask her to share with me that story. I want to know when exactly she knew that dad was the one for her. There are things I really want to know the answer to but these answers were hers only and they died along with her in 1988. As a child I never thought to ask these things. How would I? The American poet, Edna St. Vincent Millay, says in her poem of the same title “Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies.”

Childhood is not from birth to a certain age and at a certain age
The child is grown, and puts away childish things.
Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies.

Last year, shortly after I started writing about mother loss, I received a thoughtful, courteous message from a man who had read my piece “3 Things I’ve Learned Since Losing My Mother” in Huffington Post. He told me that his wife had died and that he was now raising their young children alone. He appreciated my article and wondered if I could tell him some of the most important things Dad had done to help during my moments of grief. He said he wanted to be that kind of father for his own children. I wrote back to him immediately.

When I hear from fathers looking for guidance in how to raise their motherless little ones I feel three things. One, my heart aches because out there is another father struggling to get through life without his beloved wife. And other heartbroken children are commencing a new and challenging chapter of their lives without their mommas. The second thing these messages do for me is give me hope. These men want to do their very best for their children. They are not afraid to reach out for support and to ask for help. They love their daughters and sons and they want to do right by them. And, thirdly, I feel blessed that I can offer some advice to these fathers based on the experience I was fortunate enough to have in my own life.

Hope Edelman says in “Motherless Daughters: The Legacy of Loss.”:

“The degree to which a surviving parent copes is the most important indicator of the child’s long-term adaptation. Kids whose surviving parents are unable to function effectively in the parenting role show more anxiety and depression, as well as sleep and health problems, than those whose parents have a strong support network and solid inner resources to rely on.”

Dad had no guide book, no therapist and no Google but he followed his heart and helped my brother and me in the best ways he could. He prepared us for Mam’s death by speaking to us about the seriousness of her illness once it became clear to him and to the doctors that Mam could not survive much longer. He let us know that he was going to be there for us, then and into the future and that we wouldn’t be alone. He was true to his word. He was always there for us.

Dad offered guidance when necessary and listened to our stories, our hopes and our worries without judgment. Dad allowed us to grow into ourselves without criticism or fuss. He collected me from late night discos when I requested, never complaining about the hours he had to stay up. He didn’t ask too many questions and I always felt able to tell him anything. He patiently taught my brother and I how to drive and generously loaned us his car. He trusted us. I died my hair pink, green and bright red while I was in college, before it was a thing, and Dad just smiled. He welcomed my friends into our home and never complained about the loud music blasting from my room. I truly felt my dad embrace me for who I was as I grew into my womanhood and in return for his trust we gave him no reason to worry.

Of great importance to us was keeping Mam’s presence alive in our home. We kept plenty of Mam’s things around and I was free to use any of her stuff as I wanted. I wore some of her clothes as I grew into them, used her comb, dabbed her perfume on my arm and took one of her rings as my own. There hasn’t been a day since that I haven’t worn it. Dad welcomed questions about Mam and did his best to answer them. He brought her name into conversations and shared memories of her from time to time. Memories of Mam surrounded us in a healthy way, and still do. Photos of her were kept in their frames and cards from her were stored as treasured keepsakes. Dad supported my writing of “A Lovely Woman”, the memoir I penned about losing Mam. He asks from time to time how the search for an agent is going and I know I have his blessing every step of this journey.

I am one of the fortunate ones. Not because I lost my dear mother way too early in my life, but because I was blessed with a caring and kind father who gave so much of his heart and his life to raising us children in a supportive and loving home following such a huge loss. Many, many motherless daughters and sons live a very different story to mine. Many have their family lives ripped apart because a father cannot cope emotionally. Some abuse their children. Often times fathers flee the scene and the child no longer has a secure and loving life that was once theirs. I’ve heard so many heartbreaking stories that I know this happens frequently.

There are other ways, different to my family’s experience, to find happiness in the wake of mother loss. Although generally extremely difficult for children whose fathers remarry, depending on the age of the child, children do grow up to adore their new step-mother or at least to accept them. Many find a new love and happiness in this extension of family while some experience the pain of replacement. I’m sure we all know some wonderful, devoted step-mothers who love bereaved children as their own. It is important for grieving fathers to find their happiness again too. It is a complicated affair.

I am blessed to still have my dad in my life. We don’t see each other as often as I’d like due to distance but he is always at the end of the phone line and when possible we spend quality time together. Recently I asked him about the immediate impact of losing Mam. He said he felt lost at the start and wondered how he would manage. He admitted to feeling his way day by day as time went on. Following Mam’s death he says he was exhausted but that having us, my brother and me, was a great help to him. He concentrated on our needs and we were companions for him. Helping us, he said, helped him.

As Father’s Day approaches this coming weekend I want to acknowledge the love and devotion my father gave to me and emphasize the significant role that fathers play in the life of a motherless daughter or son. I learned to thrive and grow into the considerate, assertive, loving person I am today because of what I went through and how my father guided me in those years when Mam was sick and following her death. Dad’s love and support is invaluable while the rewards for both parent and child are boundless. My heart overflows with love for my dad and when we have an opportunity to spend time together every moment is treasured. Losing my mother at such an early age resulted in a constant anxiety about losing my father. That is practically a given when a child loses a parent. But it has also given me reason to appreciate the moments. I got married last September and my father was there to walk me up the aisle. For both of us this was a moment. I choked back my happy tears when those doors opened to a room full of smiles and Etta James sang “At Last.” This day was a blessing, in more ways than one.

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Love heals us. Love is the answer. Love is the way through the pain and into the light.

I am sorry for those who have lost their fathers. And I am sorry for those who never knew theirs or have suffered pain at the hands of their fathers. There is too much pain in this world and sometimes I wonder how we get through this life at all. Perhaps, again, the answer is love. Finding love where we can. Seeking out those with a loving heart. Healing each other. Sharing our pain and learning from other people’s stories. Listening. Sending an abundance of love into this fragile world.

I conclude by wishing my kind, sweet dad a happy Father’s Day, and to all the dads out there doing their best for their children, I wish the same! Your presence in your child’s life is significant. You are valued. Let your children see that they are valued too.

Much love,

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

My father quote

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Birthdays, Birthdays without my mother, Death, Family, Grief, Grief stories, In honor of my mother, Love, Motherless Daughter, Mothers and Daughters, My mother's birthday, Writing on Grief

Still My Mother’s Birthday

My mother was born on February 18th. She’s not alive anymore but that special date, February 18th, whispers to me like a soft little hum in my ear all year round until February lands and I anticipate her birthday in all of its painful glory.

I asked Mam once what her favorite number was and she told me it was 18. So I know one of her favorite things. I don’t know her favorite color although I suspect it may have been a shade of purple, like lavender perhaps? I don’t know what her favorite food was or her favorite drink. I never asked her if she had a favorite book or a favorite friend? She had so many friends and was such a sweet person that I don’t think she would have admitted to having a favorite, but I’d like to hear her responses. I like the number 18 too. It’s probably my favorite number although before Mam told me hers, my favorite number was 8.

I was born in January, Mam’s birthday is in February and my dad’s birthday is in March. Three consecutive months of family birthdays beginning with mine at the very start of each new year. And we’ve been without Mam now since I was 11 years old. Yes, this time of year is trying for me emotionally.

Mam died in March, just three days before my dad’s birthday, and followed quickly by the hullabaloo of Mother’s Day which in Ireland, where I was born and raised, is celebrated a mere few weeks after the date she died.

Mam’s birthday and the anniversary of her death are quietly remembered by those who were closest to my mother. Dad and I call each other on those dates and some family members call my father on March 2nd which we appreciate. It’s a nice thing to do. But in the years since Mam died rarely does anybody else mention her to me on these sad but significant occasions. I understand that many people forget dates. People don’t want to bring it up, don’t want to upset me. But, guess what? I know what date it is and I’m well aware of what I’m missing. I haven’t forgotten. It is always nice to know that someone is thinking of you. To know that the person who meant the world to you is being thought of, that their death did not cancel out their memory, that your loss is recognized by those who love you is one of the greatest, most meaningful gifts you can give anybody.

Today, as always on Mam’s birthday, I’ll speak silently to her. I’ll wish her a happy birthday wherever she may be, and I’ll tell her I miss her and wish she hadn’t been taken from us so soon. This year I have a book written in her honor and it is ready to be sent out into the world when the time is right. I hope and pray that the time will soon be right. A LOVELY WOMAN is a story of mother loss. It is Mam’s story and my story, and it explores the universal experience of love, mother loss and grief. My memoir sheds light on early childhood anxiety and the ways we learn to cope and is a testament to family, resilience, compassion and truth-telling. I’ve poured my heart into this book.

Happy Birthday, Mam, wherever you are! You were born on this day many, many years ago and it is a special, wonderful, magical day. I’ll light a candle in your honor and browse through some photographs of us while sipping a cup of hot tea. Come sit with me while I browse? I have a feeling you will.

Much love,

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

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“No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away…”

Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man

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Christmas Without My Mother, Death, Family, Gratitude, Grief, Love, Moments, Motherless Daughter, The Importance of Family

Celebrating Christmas Without Mam

In my life I’ve celebrated ten Christmases with my mother. The first couple I don’t recall. And the last two were very difficult. Mam was in hospital for my ninth Christmas. She wasn’t well enough to come home. Dad took my brother and I to visit her and we sat around the hospital bed thinking this was not how Christmas was supposed to be. For my tenth Christmas Mam was at home but both she and I were ill. In hindsight I’m certain that I was terribly anxious about the situation (Mam’s cancer) and my body was buckling under the stress. I spent all of Christmas (days of celebrations in Ireland) and my birthday, which is on January 3rd, in bed sick. Mammy returned to hospital on January 4th, and died at home with us on March 2nd, 1988, when I was eleven.

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Christmas 1983

The Christmases with Mam that I do remember are filled with happy memories of Santa Claus, games and toys, books, attending mass, a glorious open fire and delicious home cooked meals with hot tea and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory on the television. My small family consisted of Dad, Mam, my older brother and me and we loved Christmas. The carol singing, tree decorating, Christmas lights, and the joy of giving and receiving filled us with cheer.

When I was nine Mam had to remain in hospital during the Christmas and this was confusing and sad. I understood for years that Mam was battling an illness, but that she couldn’t be home with us on the most special day of the year (it was that to me) was hard to take. My father did his best to keep Christmas morning as normal as possible. The Cabbage Patch Kid I requested was beneath the tree, we visited Granny and my aunt in the morning and we went to mass. But of course it didn’t feel the same without Mam. Something was very wrong and life was showing us at an early age that we couldn’t always have what we wanted. What we wanted was our mother home with us on Christmas Day.

After visiting Mam in the hospital, Dad took my brother and me on a drive to the village of Menlo, a few miles outside of Galway city, where he pulled the car in at the side of Lough Corrib. Wrapped in our winter coats and hats we stepped out onto soggy ground and stared as a beautiful swan floated before us on the still grey water. For several minutes my full attention was on that striking swan. With my tiny hand nestled in dad’s hand we admired her as she glided on the lake. I remember that moment. There was beauty in it. My dad remembers it too.

The Christmases that followed Mam’s death were hard but my family remained close and because we kept many of the same Christmas rituals we were able to move forward together. Our Christmas tree always stands in the corner of the living room by a window where my mother once decided it should be. Our Christmas decorations are comprised of random pieces collected by Mam and Dad down through the years. Some of these decorations are beginning to fall apart while many are as good as new after thirty plus years. Unique and vintage pieces, they each tell a different story. We attend Christmas Eve mass as a family, though now I get away with skipping church on Christmas Day, and the hymns sung in both English and Irish take me back in time. Dad lights a beautiful fire and my brother and I  hang our Christmas stockings on either side of the fireplace as we’ve always done, our names in red velvet lettering across the tops of each.

After Mam died we started going to my aunt’s house for dinner. Christmas Day became a different kind of day but it is still one that I love because of time spent with family, texts from friends, decorated trees, warm fires, delicious food, heartfelt conversation, gift giving, candles lighting, crackers popping and time to read and rest. Time for stillness and reflection. And lots of hot tea.

I credit Dad for the smooth transition after we lost Mam. No doubt there was terrible sorrow and disbelief at losing the mother we loved so much, my father losing his beloved wife. But Dad remained strong and he held us all up by working hard to create a nice memorial place for Mam, close to our home in Galway. Her grave is pretty with a simple but stylish headstone and flowers that burst into color in the spring. I pray to my mother at her grave and I’m grateful that we have this place to honor and remember her but honestly I don’t feel any closer to Mam when I’m there. We visit it every Christmas Eve after mass in the dark, cold night if it isn’t raining. I like to think of Mam being with me always, and being in my heart and our home, not in the cold, damp earth. So I think of the grave as a place where we honor her. It’s hers. Mam’s name is engraved there and people who read it will know it’s hers, but I keep my mother with me everywhere I go. I don’t leave her behind in that graveyard.

It has always helped that Dad was able and willing to talk about Mam after we lost her. In the earlier days I didn’t talk about her too much because I didn’t want to upset anybody. Outside of our immediate family Mam wasn’t discussed often. But Dad spoke about her. She was and is, always remembered in our little family.

“…when people stop mentioning the dead person’s name to you, the silence can seem worse than the pain of hearing those familiar, beloved syllables.” Meghan O’Rourke

This Christmas I’ll light a candle in Mam’s honor. We lit a candle for Mam on my wedding day last September and it was a beautiful thing. A warm light shone for her and flowers from my dad’s garden sat bunched together in a little jug (her jug), while my husband and I spoke our vows.

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I think about people who don’t like Christmas, those who feel they have nothing to celebrate, those who feel lost and lonely, hurt and afraid. Christmas can be a terribly hard time for some. I remember my little self, a small nine year old girl, gripping my father’s hand while taking in the beauty of a swan on a still lake as my mother lay suffering in the hospital on Christmas day. I worry for my ten year old self, sick in bed on my mother’s last ever Christmas with us. My poor mother. I consider my father. My brother. The pain so many of us go through, in different ways, at different times. It may sound strange but I think I’m one of the fortunate ones. Not because I lost my mother. That part of my story is tragic and always will be. I’m fortunate because the light came through. Mam lives on inside of me. I feel her with me. I write about her and it helps. Poetry and the written word speak volumes and I always find a quote of someone’s that resonates. We are in each other’s stories.

I recall that swan. I can still see her. Beautiful and alone on Lough Corrib that Christmas Day. Beauty is all around us. Let’s look for the beauty wherever we can. And if we cannot do it this Christmas, maybe another day. One small thing of beauty. You may recall it forever after.

For now, and into the future, much love…

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

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