Another Mother’s Day

Yesterday was Ovarian Cancer Day and this weekend in the US Mother’s Day arrives in its full and ever vibrant glory. Our inboxes have been flooded with Mother’s Day gift ideas for weeks now, lists of what to do for your mom and a million other celebratory to-dos for the maternal figure in your life. But, just a gentle reminder: many of us are not celebrating.

By all means, kind and loving mothers should indeed be celebrated, but for me, and many others, it’s an occasion we prefer to ignore. My mother is no longer living and sure, I can still offer gratitude of course; send thanks into the universe for the life she gave me and the nurturing she lavished upon us, and I will. I’ll whisper a few words to her throughout the day and tell her I wish she hadn’t died. But I’d prefer not be bombarded with so many reminders of who and what I’m missing. My mother didn’t care much for the “holiday” anyway, and times were simpler then. At home we’d make her a card; no fuss was made. I like to keep it that way. Let the date move on gently, and I’ll stay out of it.

My mother, Kathleen, got ovarian cancer when I was five. She died when I was 11, eleven days before Mother’s Day. Being a mom was her greatest joy. Nurturing came naturally to her, and she was wonderfully creative, musical and kind. She married an incredible man, my father, and he raised us alone, after she passed. Her memory lives on.

If Mother’s Day is a difficult one for you, I’ve written several blog posts with suggestions here at “A Lovely Woman“. My favorite thing to do on Mother’s Day weekend is take myself off on a trip, usually to somewhere sunny, and to focus on whatever joyful experiences pop up along the way. Nature offers the most healing in my experience, and since I won’t be taking a trip this weekend, I’ll sit in our blooming garden enjoying the pink dogwood, gorgeous rhododendrons and (hopefully) the peace, quiet and glorious sunny weather. Several of my most popular blog posts offer reading suggestions for books on the topic of mother loss. Maybe spend a few hours with an author who understand this loss.

Lots of us don’t love Mother’s Day for many reasons. My suggestion is just to be aware that not everyone is celebrating. Some people are even quiet sad on this occasion. It can be a hard day. I do fine for the most part but when people wish me a Happy Mother’s Day it’s annoying. I’m not a mother, I don’t have a living mother and I’m not celebrating anything. It baffles me why people even say this to others, but they do. Even people who know my situation.

What?

For real?

Yes. Please be thoughtful.

And to all the wonderful mothers out there, Happy Mother’s Day to you! I hold a special place in my heart for warm, kind, maternal women. I’m sure this is due to my losing Mam when I was little and so my radar for affectionate, warm mothers is always switched on.

It’s just one day, and then on to the next one.

Sending love,

Carmel

Carmel Breathnach is a writer and former school teacher born in Ireland and living in Portland, Oregon. She holds a B.A. degree in English literature and Irish language studies from NUI Maynooth, and a Graduate Diploma in Education with honors from St. Patrick’s College, Dublin. Her writing centers on childhood grief and the long-term impacts of early mother loss. Carmel’s work has appeared in the New York Times, The Irish Times, Huffington Post, Upworthy, Scary Mommy, Voice Catcher, Modern Loss, Pendemic.ie, The Good Men Project, the anthology Hidden Lights: A Collection of Truths Not Often Told and on the National Alliance for Children’s Grief (NACG) website. She is currently querying her memoir titled Briefly I Knew My Mother.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CarmelBreathnachAuthor/

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On Writing My Memoir

For most of my life I longed to read a personal account by a woman whose mother died at a similar age to me. I wished to find myself, or a friend, in the pages of somebody’s story, to learn of their journey out of childhood and into womanhood without a mother. My memoir BRIEFLY I KNEW MY MOTHER explores how my mother’s prolonged illness, and death when I was eleven, shaped the course of my life and made me who I am today.

I’ve had some impactful realizations recently and these insights will improve what I’ve already written. They’ll clarify things for the reader as they have for me. This is how it is with writing. Especially memoirs. Since I believe in divine-timing maybe I needed to get to this place before my book was really ready. At the beginning I believed I was writing the memoir for Mam. I think she’d be proud of it, and I write it in her memory, but the story is mine. And the book is for readers who, for some reason or another, will find value in what I share. Mothers and daughters will recognize themselves – and each other – in these pages. It will resonate with fathers of motherless children, caregivers, teachers, therapists, and anybody who knows a grieving or suffering child.

It’s a lot of work to write a book, and there are many things I’d change about the process if I was to begin again. For one thing I’d make sure I had someone, a therapist maybe, to talk to while doing these emotional deep dives into my past. It has taken years for me to get to this place, and now I’m ready. Maybe 2023 is the year!

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” ~ Maya Angelou

Carmel Breathnach is a writer and former school teacher born in Ireland and living in Portland, Oregon. She holds a B.A. degree in English literature and Irish language studies from NUI Maynooth, and a Graduate Diploma in Education with honors from St. Patrick’s College, Dublin. Her writing centers on childhood grief and the long-term impacts of early mother loss. Carmel’s work has appeared in the New York Times, The Irish Times, Huffington Post, Upworthy, Scary Mommy, Voice Catcher, Modern Loss, Pendemic.ie, The Good Men Project, the anthology Hidden Lights: A Collection of Truths Not Often Told and on the National Alliance for Children’s Grief (NACG) website. She is currently querying her memoir titled Briefly I Knew My Mother.

Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/CarmelBreathnachAuthor/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/carmelbreathnach/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorCarmelB

Musings of Early Mother Loss as Mother’s Day Approaches

For as long as I can remember I’ve experienced life differently to my peers. I had several close friends in my youth, but none of them knew what it was like to have a sick or dead mother.

When I was 11 Mammy died.

My grief has shown up in unexpected ways at unpredictable times throughout my life and continues to do so, thirty-plus years after my mother’s death.

Mother’s Day is approaching and I’ve written several blog posts about this Hallmark holiday. When I was 11, my first mother’s day without Mammy landed just a few days after her funeral. We visited my mother at her graveside.

It’s best to speak openly and honestly about your feelings throughout your life in order to lessen the impacts of grief in adulthood. Every child needs and deserves at least one consistent, loving adult in their life who will listen to and support them. I am blessed to have my dad.

I’ve always been grateful for my family. I was loved and cherished and what a gift that has been. Frequently happy in childhood, I enjoyed playing with friends and spending time with family. Although there was sadness and stress in my youth, I’m sometimes nostalgic for those days long ago, spent in Ireland, on the land running through fields, climbing stone walls and swimming in the sea. I’m still deeply connected to the child in me, maybe more deeply because of what I went through.

For Mother’s Day this year I’ll be in L.A., one of my favorite places to visit. The sun, the ocean, the restaurants where I can find meals and desserts to suit my delicate digestive system, all offer comfort, solace and yes, a distraction from the one thing everyone else seems to be focused on. I’ll have my book with me and I’ll sit in Café Gratitude sipping on coffee milkshakes. I’ll stroll the neighborhood streets inhaling lavender and enjoying California lilacs, stunning succulents and pretty lemon trees. If you see me in Los Angeles, barefoot on the beach, or enjoying vegan tiramisu be sure to wave hello. I might have a pen or a book in hand, I usually do, but I’ll always be happy to send a smile and take a moment to say hello.

Holding Space for Younger Me

How has your summer been? Life for me has continued at its current slow and steady pace. We’re mostly staying home, my husband and I wrapped in our little bubble, attempting to keep ourselves and others safe. Lots of swimming outdoors, time immersed in nature and dedicated morning and evening meditation time has proved to be healing and enjoyable. I’m reading a lot and I received very positive feedback on my memoir-in-progress from an editor a few weeks ago. The work continues, and I’m feeling optimistic and hopeful about my book. I’ve been taking some extended social media breaks and though I’ve enjoyed the sense of freedom away from my phone I’ve missed the online community of friends I cherish and value, so I’m back again, for another while anyway.

Like everyone, I have my struggles too. We all do. Nobody knows what another person is carrying. However, with everything going on in the world today, and some countries suffering so terribly, I regularly offer gratitude for the blessings I have. Life can be so very painful at times and brutal for some. Those of us with sensitive hearts can barely take the cruelty across the globe, our heads spinning at the disregard for life, insufferable grief and torment. My daily meditations with a candle lighting and a background of soft music is a must these days. Holding space for others. Holding space for me.

I’ve been practicing an exercise a healer once recommended to me. Above my writing desk, attached to a black polka dot pinboard is one of two photographs I have of me when I was four years old, about to head off to school for the first time. In this photograph I’m holding the strap of a red canvas bag in both of my hands, the bag resting on my brown shoes. My hair, perfectly combed, barely touches my shoulder and I’m wearing a long-sleeved brown dress. The September morning was unusually sunny, my bare legs are visible beneath my frock. Smiling and excited I pose for the camera outside our home, an old window frame in the background. This innocent and happy little girl is the one I picture when I recall the early years of my mother’s illness.

Several years ago a spiritual healer guided me in a healing session. She knew I carried emotional trauma from witnessing my mother’s prolonged illness and the worry I carried as a little one, until my mother died when I was eleven. The healer directed me to close my eyes and picture myself as a little girl, to invite little me into my arms and tell her she is safe. I attempted this comforting act then, and a year ago a therapist recommended the exact same exercise. I’ve since read articles about the benefits of trying this and when I’m in the moment, arms wrapped around little Carmel, explaining to her that I’m here for her, that she (we) (I) will be okay, a sense of peace falls over me, unlike any other. Now I take ten minutes every so often, to travel back in my mind to support that innocent and vulnerable little child.

I worried constantly at the time that something might happen to my father, leaving my brother and I parentless. Today, I know there was no need to worry. Dad has been healthy and content down through the years. I really wish I had known not to burden my little body and mind with anxiety, but some things cannot be changed. However I can revisit younger me when I meditate and share with her what I know now, offering peace, comfort and love.

We often talk about the value and importance of holding space for others. When I give myself time to do this particular exercise, I’m holding space for me and being present emotionally, physically, and mentally. Some days it’s too challenging to sit with my feelings, sensations, and memories, while other days nothing feels better than allowing myself ten or fifteen minutes to be gentle with myself.

There is much to be grateful for, but as I embrace feelings of gratitude and hope, I also hold space for sadness and remembering. I wish to honor all of my experiences, my heartache and my blessings.

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.

Carmel Breathnach is a freelance writer, born in Ireland and living in Portland, Oregon. She holds a B.A. degree in English literature and Irish language studies from NUI Maynooth, and a Diploma in Education from St. Patrick’s College, Dublin. Carmel writes on the themes of childhood mother loss, grief and gratitude. Her work has appeared in The Irish Times, Huffington Post, Upworthy, Scary Mommy, Voice Catcher, Modern Loss and Pendemic.ie, as well as in the anthology Hidden Lights published by Golden Dragonfly Press. Carmel is currently working on a memoir about mother loss titled Briefly I Knew My Mother.

15 Ways to Honor Your Deceased Mother on Your Wedding Day

Many of us imagine that our wedding day will be one of the best days of our lives. But for women whose mothers have died, navigating the wedding planning and the big day can be difficult and painful. My mother died when I was eleven years old, obviously several years before I was ready to even consider getting married, but her absence from my wedding preparations at thirty nine years of age was felt throughout the process, and on the beautiful day itself. I know there are many motherless women excited for their wedding day while at the same time experiencing a range of emotions from anxiety and dread to sorrow and anger. Women have asked my advice on how best to honor their mothers during the ceremony. Here are fifteen ideas:

1.Place a favorite photograph of your mother in a pretty frame and place it on the ceremony table facing you and the guests throughout the celebration. You can glance at that photograph, see her face, and know she is with you in spirit.

2. My father and I picked flowers from our garden at home, including two beautiful red roses that came from my maternal grandfather’s rose bush – a gift to my parents many moons before. My husband and I held these roses during the Rose Ceremony and the flowers were displayed in an old pottery jug of my mother’s which was placed on the table next to her photograph. Did your mother have a garden? Or something special of hers that you can incorporate into the ceremony?

3. My husband and I displayed photographs of our parents on their wedding days and these were moved throughout the day depending on the celebration, for example, they were next to our wedding cake later in the evening.

4. My mother’s name was included in our wedding booklet where we mentioned the parents of the bride and groom. My mother was not going to be at my wedding but she is still one of my parents and there was no question about having her name on the booklet. (Many people choose to omit the names of the deceased and focus only on those in attendance.)

5. A month before our wedding I attended a Motherless Daughter’s Retreat with Hope Edelman, Claire Bidwell Smith and twenty one other motherless daughters in beautiful Ojai, California. I attended the retreat in order to bond with other women who understood the pain of early mother loss. The timing was right for me as the build-up to our wedding had sent a flood of fresh grievances my way. In a little shop in Ojai I came across a gorgeous handbag, perfect for my wedding outfit. I purchased it some days later and on my special day I carried the handbag with me along with the love, understanding and best wishes of my new tribe of motherless sisters. Are you a member of a motherless daughters’ group? There are many of these groups now, all over the USA and internationally. Or perhaps you have a friend whose mother died? She may be able to offer you comfort that nobody else can offer on the day. Keep her close.

6. Months before our wedding I ordered a gorgeous Candle of Remembrance from an Irish company and chose the image and the wording (from a selection) that best suited my mother. I lit the candle in my mother’s honor when the celebrant mentioned her name and her absence at the beginning of the ceremony. Many companies offer Remembrance Candles.

7. A few years after my mother died I found a stunning ring of hers that fit me perfectly. I’ve worn it every day since then and I wore it on my wedding day. Do you wear something that once belonged to your mother? I find it very comforting to wear her ring daily.

8. I wanted to incorporate another piece of my mother’s jewelry into my outfit and with the help of local designer Holly Stalder we came up with the idea of creating a pretty hairpiece using my mother’s costume jewelry brooch and some fabric pieces similar to my wedding dress. This was a fun endeavor and I love the result so much!

9. My father mentioned my mother in his speech and it proved to be a special, important moment for me; honoring Mam by speaking of her in front of family and friends. My bridesmaid who is one of my best friends since our earliest years also spoke of Mam and honored her memory with beautiful, touching words of remembrance. I spoke of Mam briefly during my speech and it felt good to bring her memory into the space.

10. Having my father present on my wedding day, being there to walk me up the aisle and offer his joy, love and best wishes to my husband and me, our guests and our friends, meant the world to me. My mother chose a wonderful husband, a man who would look after their two children with a kind heart and who would honor their love by being the best dad he could be. My mother would have been proud, and very grateful. Not everyone will have the presence of a father on their wedding day, but perhaps you have a brother, a sister, a grandparent or someone else who loves you and can support you on the day.

These are some of my favorite ways other women have honored their mothers on their wedding day:

11. Re-stage one of your mother’s wedding pictures. I love this idea and if I had thought of it prior to my wedding I would have attempted it.

12. Sew a heart from a piece of your mother’s fabric onto the inside of your wedding gown. That way you can hold a piece of your mother very close.

13. Wear a locket containing her photograph or attach it to your bouquet.

14. Hold a moment of silence in her memory.

15. Lace your mother’s wedding band into your gown. This one can look really beautiful.

Our wedding day proved to be one of my favorite days ever. I know my mother would want that for me. I hope this post can give other motherless daughters ideas but I also want to offer encouragement and support. Love is a blessing and our special unions in life are gifts. The day passes so quickly. Focus on all the positive, love-filled aspects of the day if you can.

Sending love and best wishes for your special day,

~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.

Photo credits to Jefferies photography, Ireland and Annie Bracken (last image)

What Not to Do When Someone You Know Has Lost Their Mother

The following TEN points may seem obvious. At least they do to me, but since we are all human and nobody is perfect I’ve decided to put this list together. Also, the first thing on my list happened to me today bringing to my attention that people need reminders every now and again. In fact, all ten points have happened to me, many of them on multiple occasions, so if you know all of this already please feel free to share it with somebody who doesn’t. It might prevent an awkward or upsetting situation from happening in the future and we all strive to be better people, right? I, for one, know that I’ve much to learn from others and their personal experiences. That’s one of the many reasons I read memoirs. When we immerse ourselves in somebody’s story, tapping into the struggle of another human being, we get to exercise our empathy muscles.

Here are my suggestions.

TEN things NOT to do when someone you know has lost their mother:

1. DO NOT email a motherless daughter gift advertisements for Mother’s Day. I know, unbelievable right? Even so, it happened, and the person knows my mother isn’t alive. Just what I didn’t need in the mail. The message on the ad stated “Pamper your mother this Mother’s Day”. Really? Please don’t do this. It’s bad enough that our inboxes are automatically bombarded with these kinds of advertisements leading up to Mother’s Day.
2. DO NOT invite them to your own Mother’s Day event and expect them to be in a cheerful mood for the entire party when everyone around you is celebrating the wonder of mothers and those who have them. (If the motherless daughter is particularly close to your mother, then this may be a different case, but please ask them sincerely if being at the party is where they want to be). I hear from women all of the time about how hard Mother’s Day events are for them, but they do it to please a partner or keep others happy.
3. DO NOT post publicly about missing somebody who has died, on a date that is significant and meaningful to that person and their family, without a) asking permission of the grieving relative or person closest to the deceased b) referring to the grieving person and their own unique and significant pain and c) requesting that people connect with the grieving person on her page or privately. Posting about missing somebody after a death is a beautiful thing if the family has given you permission or if you were extremely close to the deceased. Please be mindful as to your approach. It’s hurtful to be tagged in someone else’s post about your own mother and follow along as they receive condolences throughout the day.
4. (In connection with above post) DO NOT offer your condolences to somebody for their loss on another person’s page and simply assume, or hope that she’ll see it. A personal message, a kind gesture offered in private (rather than on someone else’s page) is more meaningful. Check to see if the bereaved person has written something of her own, describing her personal journey and offer a genuine response to that.
5. TRY NOT TO FORGET significant dates, in particular death anniversaries, Mother’s Day and birthdays. Mark them on your calendar and make that call. Often it will only take five minutes. We can’t all remember significant dates for everyone. I get that. But if you have a very close friend or family member who suffered a major loss surely that date is etched in your brain? No. Then maybe take note and write it down in order to remember. What do most of us look for in a genuine lengthy friendship? I would say we wish to be thought of and held in that friend’s heart. Well, this includes being thought about on tough days like the anniversary of your mother’s death. We want to know that our friends haven’t forgotten our most challenging life experiences. Offer a kind and sincere thought on the anniversary of a rough day. Believe me, it makes a difference.
6. DO NOT tell a motherless daughter that you wish you didn’t have to spend the day with your annoying, cranky mother. Just don’t.
7. DO NOT compare your loss with somebody else’s. Grief is one of the hardest things life will ever throw our way. Losing a loved one changes us, and our lives forever. I feel deeply for any person who is grieving. For motherless daughters Mother’s Day can be miserable. The bombardment of advertisements telling us how we should pamper and celebrate our mothers when we no longer have them is heart-wrenching. For women whose babies/children have died it is a cruel reminder of a massive loss. The day is tough on widowed parents, terminally ill mothers and families where a terminally ill mother is fighting for her life. Let’s not compare one loss to another. This has happened to me, on several occasions for example in another story of mine. Pain is pain. Nobody wants to lose the person they love. We are all in this life together.
8. DO NOT, if you are a teacher or a grown up, assume that a child has their mother at home. I still can’t believe how insensitive my teachers were following my mother’s death. “Take this home to your mother!” they would say, handing me a note for home. I would look at them in disbelief but they would continue on down the classroom aisle with no thought given to what they had said. These teachers were well aware of my loss. We were from a small town and my school was small. They just didn’t think about what they were saying or it didn’t matter enough to choose their words with more care.
9. DO NOT tell a motherless daughter they should be over their loss by now. It doesn’t matter if it’s a year, twenty years or fifty years, we never ‘get over’ losing our mothers. I have dear friends who lost their mothers forty and fifty years ago and they still miss and long for them. I lost my mother thirty years ago and although the passage of time heals in some ways I’ve never stopped missing Mam. I’ve longed for her throughout my life at different periods such as when shopping for my wedding dress and other random moments.
10. BE MINDFUL of speaking in a group about the blessing of having a nurturing, loving mother while a friend who is motherless sits listening. I am in no way suggesting to daughters (or sons) not to celebrate and cheer on their mothers because any love expressed is a beautiful thing. It warms my heart deeply to see mothers and daughters interact in loving ways. I wrote about the beautiful mother-daughter bond here and here. Be considerate, is what I’m saying. Two former friends gushed about their mothers in front of me one day. We had just returned to the college campus after a weekend at home. They described everything their mothers did for them, how nurturing they were and how much they loved them announcing “Where would we be without our mothers?” Granted I was blessed with a gem of a father so I could have shot back ”Where would we be without our fathers?” but my heart hung heavy by that point, not only as a result of being reminded of what I was missing, but because my two lovely friends forgot what I could never forget.

If we are more mindful in our interactions with friends, if we take the time to consider how we would feel in a particular situation and if we make the effort to learn from those who have gone through challenges then we’ll do just fine. I promise. And sincerely I appreciate all the love I receive on a regular basis since beginning this very personal journey of sharing.

Previously I wrote a piece on how to be present for someone who has lost their mother. If I can help comfort another woman or give ideas to those who want to do better for a grieving friend then I’m doing my work. I saw this picture on Instagram recently by Mari Andrew, a writer and illustrator based in NYC. I relate.

If you are interested in finding more tips or advice on how to help a grieving friend or someone going through a really tough time pick up a copy of this book by Kelsey Crowe and Emily McDowell. It’s packed with great advice.

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.

Thirty Years Without My Mother

On March 2nd, 1988 my dear mother, Kathleen, passed away from ovarian cancer, at home in Ireland, where I was born and raised. I was eleven and my brother was a couple of years my senior. It’s hard to believe it has been thirty years, and yet it does seem like a lifetime since my mother held me close.

My family stuck together through everything. In this way I feel fortunate. Dad, grieving but kind and present, guided us through the tough times with a gentle, open heart. We didn’t see therapists or read books on grief, we just plowed forward with determination and love. I don’t know if there were therapists around town in those days. Nobody spoke about therapists and the thought just didn’t cross anyone’s minds. We weren’t familiar with grief books either, though I was curious to find one about a little girl my own age whose mother had died. Concerned about puberty and worried about how I’d tackle female issues without my mother I wanted a friend who understood, 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 adulthood that I came across a book on the subject of mother loss. I’ve seen a therapist on a couple of occasions but grief counseling has not been effective in my case. It can be of enormous help to some people but just wasn’t what I needed at the time. Or perhaps I didn’t find the right person. Maybe the timing was off. I’m not sure.

Growing up I could talk to my father about anything and I relied on him for love and consistent care. He never let me down. We often spoke about Mam, and we still do. Permitted to look through her things, wear her clothes if I wished and explore her belongings, it brought Dad happiness to witness my continued love for my mother. Every day I wear a ring of hers, gifted to Mam from my father. On my wedding day in 2016, along with my mother’s ring, I wore a beautiful brooch of hers embedded in a unique hair set made locally for the occasion. We keep the memory of my much-loved mother alive to this day by displaying family photos around the house. 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 my mother is gone from us three decades now; a vibrant, beautiful spirit in her healthy days, and a courageous, kind human-being during the tough years. These past thirty years have been a real mix of ups and downs. For those of us who lost a loved one early in life we are constantly riding the unpredictable waves of emotions. In the first few years I focused on school, drama classes and my friendships. It felt important to me to stay strong for my family’s sake. Genuinely happy many of those days, I had great friends and a comfortable home, albeit without my mother. School was not my favorite place and as the years passed my anxiety there increased. Even as a child the focus in school was placed on listening to teachers, very little creative expression or physical movement and chastisement for any little thing.

I didn’t understand it back then but I experienced a sense of relief following my mother’s death. After watching her suffer for so many years we were exhausted and often frantic with worry. The progression of her illness broke our hearts. For six years we hoped and prayed that she would get better, but she didn’t and there was a lot of pain during those years. When Mam died I was broken-hearted, but eventually the weight of anxiety fell away. 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. Now, after all of these years I long for even one more minute with her. What a miracle that would be!

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

Unexpectedly, in my mid twenties I experienced deep sadness and regret over not having the relationship I saw other women my age enjoying with their moms. I craved maternal comfort, and I knew my mother, a nurturing, loving person, would have graced me with that unconditional love. I believe my grieving truly started then. In my studio here in Portland, I would suddenly break down and cry at her memory. I felt terribly hard done by. It was during these years that I sought out energy healers and psychics. A few of the female healers appeared to have the ability to connect with my mother’s spirit and the readings offered much comfort. During these sessions I felt certain my mother’s spirit was close. Shortly after this time I began writing about my loss and connecting with other motherless daughters.

There are times when I feel deep pangs of sorrow and I wish Mam had been granted a much longer life than what she was given. Today, she would be eighty years old had she lived. But I allow myself to think and talk about her every day and writing about her over the years has really helped me process her death. 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 comfort in the connections we make through writing. I’m working on my memoir Briefly I Knew My Mother to honor my mother’s memory while helping others understand the long arc of grief.

People ask if it will get better or easier over time, if they will ever stop missing the person they loved and lost. My mother died thirty years ago and I can say this; things do get easier eventually, the weight of loss does lighten, but the void will always be there. I’ve never stopped missing Mam and I’ve missed her in varying ways. Some years have been harder than others. Why particular years were more challenging depended on phases and experiences in my life and so our grief journeys are not linear. Some moments are heavy and sad, while others are filled with beauty and joy. Life is but a collection of moments. Getting through a moment is easier than getting through a day or a week or a year. The key is to try and find something beautiful in a moment and go with that into the next. Hold your 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 caring for the other deeply and in their unconditional love for their children. I keep a photograph of my mother in a beautiful vintage frame on a table in our hallway alongside a scented candle, fresh plants and a bowl of lavender. I pass this area 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, 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

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Moving Forward After Mother Loss

We can’t go back in time. We can only move forward. Moment to moment. There is no changing what has happened no matter how much we want the outcome to be different. And in standing still, which we may do for a while, there can be no growth. Our bodies and spirits gravitate towards recovery and healing so eventually we must move in that direction, but it can take a long time, and a lot of effort. How do we activate our healing when all we want to do is cry? When all we want is for the person we have lost to reappear and hold us and tell us everything is okay, just as it was before, but better because we now know what it feels like to lose them and the most amazing feeling ever would be to have them back.

Well, crying is a good step. Crying is a release and it is healing. I didn’t cry all that much in the first decade following my mother’s death. I cried in the second decade, and into the third. So, I know that grieving is a process and that it can present itself throughout our lives depending on circumstances. I’ve lived some of the happiest days of my life in the years since my mother died, but I’ve also lived black days. Days where I couldn’t stop crying, staring at the photo of Mam on my fridge, imploring “Where are you? Are you here? Why did this have to happen to us? I neeeeed you!”

This is the journey of life. The days of cherry blossoms and playful baby goats; warm sunshine kissing bare skin; a comforting hug from someone you love; the fragrance of spring in the violet-blue hyacinths on your coffee table, but also, the sorrow that wells up inside you when the scent of nail polish takes you right back to the days of sitting beside your long-dead mother as she delicately painted your tiny fingernails.

What do we do? We move forward, reaching for the pleasant gifts of life. We must, if we are to survive.

Cheryl Strayed quoted her mother in her stunning book ”Wild“ when she said:

“There’s always a sunrise and always a sunset and it’s up to you to choose to be there for it,’ said my mother. ‘Put yourself in the way of beauty.”

Is it easy? Not always. Is it possible? Yes.

Following tragedy we will never be the same person we were beforehand. Gathering all of the shredded pieces of ourselves together we gradually become who we need to be as we take our next steps. We learn as we go along, figuring out what works for us, facing adversity head on and sometimes crying. Moment to moment.

Throughout my life many of the universe’s gifts have inspired me to step from one moment into the next. After my mother died it was my father’s love and devotion towards my brother and me that kept me afloat. His love for us gave me something to hold on to. I didn’t lose all hope in the world, though my innocence was shattered at an early age. One caring and devoted adult in a child’s life can make all the difference. My brother and I were blessed with a wonderful dad.

I had close friends in school who cared about me and the laughter we shared, even on the toughest days, allowed a lightness to enter my being when otherwise it could not. Laughter is an instant release from those thoughts that cause pain. One of my closest friends, Tara, could always make me laugh. I needed her compassionate spirit close to me in school following my mother’s death, and we gravitated towards one another no matter how much our teachers tried to pry us apart. I will never understand why it was more important to my teachers that I concentrate on my math or my writing than it was that I laugh with my pal in the aftermath of such tragedy. My work was exemplary. I loved to write and read and my teachers had no reason to worry about that side of things. School granted me a chance to interact with my friends and I needed those interactions. I was only eleven. Plenty of time for austerity. Laughter is one of the best prescriptions for wellness. As a teacher of young children I laughed a lot when I was in the classroom with them. I encouraged laughter and joy more than anything. What a gift little ones are! They remind us to pay attention to the simplest of life’s blessings.

Making art, creating, writing, dancing, singing; all of these things can save a person. Find that which your soul is drawn to and give yourself the time and space to dive right in. Art lifts you out of the analytical thinking left brain and drops you into the expressive, imaginative right brain where you can let go of the pain for a while. Writing has always been my go-to and when I gave myself the time and permission to write about Mam’s illness and death in Briefly I Knew My Mother a weight so heavy and burdensome lifted. My mother loved to dance and sing so these activities not only bring me joy they bring me closer to her.

I know that sometimes none of this will seem to matter. We are too heartbroken and devastated to consider stepping towards anything that removes us from thinking of the person we have lost. There are times when all we want is that person back. I understand. I so completely understand. The void we experience following a loss often feels like too much to bear.

It takes time. That’s why we must be kind to ourselves and listen to what our soul is trying to tell us. Our inner voice knows what we need. Laughter is an instant release. It creates space. Friends give us comfort. Take everything moment to moment. But we must do the work. When we are ready it is ultimately up to us.

Nature offers us many gifts. I am always calmer following a walk in the forest. Regularly I crave a warm lake in which to float, releasing myself to the water as it carries me along. Our universe is rich with beauty. When we give ourselves to it our souls respond to the sweet magnificence of the hummingbird, the soft comforting warmth of a furry family pet and the immense strength of the redwood tree.

In March of this year my mother will be dead thirty years. It’s an astonishing amount of time. Life threw my family a tremendous burden and a whole lot of heartbreak when we were all just starting off together as a little family. It’s not fair. But what in life is?

In those thirty years since I have lived sad times, bewildering times and happy joyful times. Some years propose questions and other years offer answers.

Moment to moment we can allow the answers to filter through, be it in stillness or art, writing or friendship. Look for that door, the one that appeals to you, the one that draws you over, and then when you’re ready to step on through, open it. Take all that you need with you on your next journey: your memories, the love you’ll always carry for the person you’ve lost, and breathe deeply as you go. Joy and beauty will greet you on the other side, showing up in your art, your words and your song, in the garden, on a hike, in another person’s smile. We are part of all that is. It is a great mystery but one that we are in together. The grief journey is gut-wrenching at the worst of times, but our lives are richer for the love we have experienced. Take it moment to moment, that’s all we can do. Then reach for that door handle. And visualize what you want to find on the other side!

Much love,

Carmel X

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“May my heart be kind, my mind fierce, and my spirit brave.” – Kath Forsyth, The Witches of Eileanan

Compassion Blooms

I see my sadness in your sadness.

I lost Mam when I was 11 years old. As a young child I watched my beloved mother suffer as she attempted in so many ways to get well again. She was in and out of hospital for weeks, sometimes months at a time. She had to leave her husband and children while she spent days attached to drips in hospitals around the country. It must have been almost unbearable for her. But she fought with all that she had, for her life and for us. She fought for as long as she was able, until she could fight no more.

Today I feel my eleven year old pain, and I feel the pain of every child who grieves the loss of their mother. I hurt for children who have lost a father, a sibling or that special somebody who meant the world to them. I weep for those who are going through suffering, whether they are watching a parent fight for their lives or they are fighting for their own life. Because I know what pain, anxiety and loss feels like to a child, and although my circumstances are different to theirs as humans we know what a broken heart feels like.

To the little five year old girl who was in my classroom and whose mother had just been diagnosed with cancer; the little five year old boy whose dad was dying from aggressive cancer; the little girl whose father committed suicide; the little girl whose brother had sexually abused her; I wanted so badly to protect each of you from your pain. Your precious little hearts and bodies were aching and I saw each one of you. I still hold you all in my heart. For some of you it has been more than fifteen years but I remember each of you by name and I can see each of your tiny faces in my memory.

I see my sadness in other people’s sadness.

I see it in fathers, widowers, husbands who are in and out of the hospital visiting a suffering loved one and in adoring partners who want nothing more than the health and well-being of their chosen love. My heart breaks for them. It isn’t easy. And everything doesn’t always turn out as we want it to. I don’t know if there really is a divine plan. It doesn’t make sense to those of us who have lost someone, and it doesn’t help to hear that part of the divine plan is losing the good ones.

For the grieving parent who has lost a child; the woman who goes through miscarriage after miscarriage; the girl who has lost the love of her life; the man who experiences grief in every cell of his being; the child who misses a parent so much they just want to die; the person who misses a grandmother more than anyone; I feel your sorrows. I do. Our situations and circumstances are different and our pain is different in form but I know what it is like to hurt and despair. We have lost and feel broken, unsure of how to go on, angry at the world, envious of those who have what we no longer have.

Many of us know the pain of losing someone. Not everyone does. Unfortunately everybody will. Instead of bitterness and cruelty towards one another it is time to reach out and offer space for others. None of us know the full extent of the pain that another person is carrying on any given day. Let’s pause and consider this before we pass judgement or criticize. We can offer compassion. And let us never forget that we too deserve space and compassion. Let’s do the best we can in any given moment. We must take care of our own hearts too.

I went to hear Joe Biden speak in November here in Portland, Oregon. Joe has written a book about the death of his son Beau and much of the talk centered on the pain of that loss. Also mentioned was the loss of Joe’s first wife and baby daughter in a tragic car accident and yet Joe was able to look out into the audience and say to us, “I know that my grief is nothing compared to what some of you have experienced. Everyone in this room has gone through something.” He said that he didn’t mean to make his grief sound worse than anybody else’s. He wanted to acknowledge that we all have our burdens to carry.

Every one of us can speak of our losses, share our stories, and assert our needs while acknowledging that this is a world filled with people who understand heartache and burden. As we embark on a new journey in this bright and shiny new year let’s celebrate all the love that there is in the world. Love is a gift in all of its forms. Let’s not deny another person’s love. We can reach out to one another, offer a listening ear and share our vulnerabilities and our stories.

I began a Facebook page in which to share personal stories of mother loss and updates on my memoir. It has since morphed into a page where I share various grief articles (although still with an emphasis on mother loss), because as humans we all have the ability to relate to another person’s sorrow. I see my loss in another person’s loss. It is extremely helpful, of course, to connect with people who share similar experiences e.g Motherless Daughter’s groups, because within our tribe we experience a connection that can carry us when we are having trouble standing on our own.

In 2018 let’s see if we can reach out to each other more. To the refugee who has had to flee their home, leave their family and an entire life behind; to the child who finds themselves in trouble because a parent isn’t present in their lives; to the single mother who is trying her best to be present for their child and to those parents doing their best to care for a sick child. I see my struggles in their struggles.

Different, but the same.

Sadness around us.

Human suffering. Humanity suffering.

Because we love.

Humanity.

Love.

Let’s be the light, even as we ourselves struggle. Let’s be the light in this precious world of ours. Love wins, even when it hurts.

Peace and love to you all this new year.

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.

‘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. He said the film addressed death and the afterlife and I was immediately intrigued.

I’ve been familiar with death all of my life, unlike most children who don’t need to think about dying. When I was 11 my mother died. In the years leading up to her death I lived with anticipatory grief, a deep and profound fear of losing her permanently. By age 12 my mother and all four of my grandparents were deceased. I knew very well what death meant when I was young. There was no masking it. I’d never see my loved ones again. Never again see my mother, after age 11. How devastating!

I’ve been writing about grief and childhood mother loss for a few years now and so Parag was correct. I did wish to see Coco.

We went 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.

Oh yes! To be remembered, and honored by the ones left behind.

On Dia de los Muertos, Miguel, a young boy from the charming Mexican village of Santa Cecilia, crosses a bridge made of marigold petals and slips into the underworld. Coco is the name of Miguel’s great-grandmother, who turns out to be the heart of the story.

I enjoyed everything about this film, but what touched me most of all was Miguel’s coming 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 the living, they die for a second time, and nobody knows where those spirits end up. Coco packs an emotional wallop. Back in the living world Miguel tries to help silent Mama Coco recall the father who loved her. He’s newly determined to help keep the memory of the dead alive.

After the movie I was again moved 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. As time passes 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 organizes an annual mass for my mother and her name appears in the local community bulletin around the anniversary of her passing. Again, we want our loved ones to be remembered. But there is something beautiful and celebratory about a multi-day holiday which focuses on gatherings where deceased friends and family members are celebrated. I love that the intent of Dia de los Muertos is to help support the spiritual journey of the deceased 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)

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 meaningful and significant. I think we should do this kind of thing more often. We should celebrate openly those who have passed on. These occasions will allow for sadness and will offer comfort.

We who have lost loved ones yearn for a sense of their presence. When we share with others our memories of someone we loved it can leave us feeling energized because in our hearts and memories they live on. Coco shows us that even after death, the spirit (and love) lingers. In my writing I keep my mother’s memory alive daily. I have framed photographs of her in several rooms here at home.

Coco is an emotional film. It’s also reassuring, visually appealing, thought-provoking and family friendly. For a child struggling to understand the death of a loved one this film offers insight into how memories 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.

Carmel X

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)

Carmel Breathnach is a writer and former school teacher born in Ireland and living in Portland, Oregon. She holds a B.A. degree in English literature and Irish language studies from NUI Maynooth, and a Graduate Diploma in Education with honors from St. Patrick’s College, Dublin. Her writing centers on childhood grief and the long-term impacts of early mother loss. Carmel’s work has appeared in the New York Times, The Irish Times, Huffington Post, Upworthy, Scary Mommy, Voice Catcher, Modern Loss, Pendemic.ie, The Good Men Project, the anthology Hidden Lights: A Collection of Truths Not Often Told and on the National Alliance for Children’s Grief (NACG) website. She is currently querying her memoir titled Briefly I Knew My Mother.

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The Healing Letter

I often share with people how effective writing can be in the healing process. Penning my memoir Briefly I Knew My Mother allowed me to express, and ultimately work through, many feelings I hadn’t touched on in years. Articulating our thoughts and feelings on paper can help us understand them better. If you are sad or grieving and you don’t know where to start perhaps penning a letter to the person you have lost might help.

Personally, I love writing with a pen. For me there’s something visceral about putting pen to paper; it’s an act almost as innate as taking a breath. I’ve been keeping a diary for most of my life now on a daily basis. But typing is faster and I do that too. I would suggest either method.

Writing a memoir or a book might sound daunting, and yes it’s a massive undertaking, so perhaps journaling about your feelings will help to release stagnant emotions. Friends of mine have discovered profound healing through poetry writing. If poetry seems intimidating and you’d like a more direct approach may I suggest writing a letter to your mother, or the person you are missing? For those of us missing our mothers there are so many things we still want to say to them. You’ll know what those things are when you sit down and begin writing. If you don’t know where to start consider the following eight reflections:

1. What I miss most about you is…
2. What I wish I could tell you now is…
3. What I wish I’d said or hadn’t said is…
4. My strongest memory of you when I was growing up is…
5. What’s most difficult for me now is…
6. What I’d like to ask you is…
7. What I’m most grateful for is…
8. I’m keeping you close to my heart by…

Feel free to play around with the wording of the above prompts to suit your own situation.

Once the letter is complete keep your writing private and close to your heart if this is what feels right to you. Read your letter aloud in the privacy of your home, if you feel inclined. I do this with my writing sometimes at home & occasionally it brings on tears, but the emotional release can be powerful. You may choose to read your letter at the cemetery, the beach or a place that was special to you and your mother. Perhaps read it to a trusted friend? I keep most of my writing, even though I rarely read back over stuff. You could find a special box for it, or keep it in a drawer beside your bed. Perhaps revisit it, add to it over time and watch how your answers grow. Or crumple it up and dispose of it if that feels more healing to you.

Of course writing cannot bring our loved ones back to us, but it can bring us a little closer to them with each thought and each wish we put down on the page. It helps us express what sometimes is difficult to express in words. Maybe just give it a try?

Much love,

Carmel X

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“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.” ~ William Wordsworth

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

My dad is the reason I’m a well-adjusted, loving and happy person today. I have no doubt about it. Sure, I have my down days, but, don’t we all? This world is full of challenges and hardships. I miss my mother who died when I was only eleven years old and I feel angry and ripped off and lonely for her and for the person she would be today. Questions only she could answer form in my mind and I crave her companionship. It’s normal to feel this way. There are times when I’m out to lunch and a mother and daughter are next to me, chatting and laughing in their booth, or an array of other mom/daughter experiences I’ll never have, and I miss Mam terribly. I have loved and lost, and much too early in life, but I will say that I feel truly, unimaginably blessed to have my father. Who would I have become without his love and guidance down through the years? 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. My dad is a gem and she recognized that. I wish I could ask her to share more of that story with me. When did she know my father was the one? I am curious about many things but only she had the answers. As a child I never thought to ask, but how would I? The 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 his wife had died and 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 wanted to be that kind of father for his own children. I responded 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 heartbroken children are commencing a new and challenging chapter of their lives without their moms. The second thing these messages do is give me hope. These men want to do their best for the children. They are not afraid to reach out for support and to ask for help. They love their daughters and sons and want to do right by them. Thirdly, I feel blessed that I can offer advice 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 my mother’s death by speaking openly and in an age-appropriate way about the seriousness of her illness, once it became clear to him and to the doctors that she 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 and has been consistently present.

My father 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. Dad embraced 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 her stuff as I wanted. I wore some of her clothes as I grew into them, ran her comb through my long hair, dabbed her perfume on my arm and claimed 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. Photos of her were kept in their frames and cards were stored as treasured keepsakes. Dad supports my writing of “Briefly I knew My Mother”, the memoir I penned about losing Mam. 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 far too early in my life, but because I was blessed with a caring and kind father who raised us children in a supportive and loving home following such a huge loss. Some motherless daughters and sons live a very different story to mine. Their family is ripped apart because a father cannot cope emotionally. Some abuse their children or flee and the child no longer has the secure and loving home life that was once theirs. I’ve heard many heartbreaking stories and unfortunately 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 difficult on children whose fathers remarry, depending on the age of the child, children can, and do, form close relationships with a new step-mother. Many discover love and happiness in this extension of family while others 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.

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 we have an opportunity to spend time together every moment is treasured. 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’ve grown into a considerate, assertive, compassionate person 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 has been invaluable. Losing my mother at such an early age resulted in constant anxiety about losing my father. That is practically a given when a child loses a parent. But my early experience of death taught me 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 very special 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.

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 hurt in this world and sometimes I wonder how we get through 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.

A Motherless Tribe.

I’m a strong believer in sharing our hearts,

sharing our love,

sharing our thoughts,

and to my motherless sisters

who have lost as I,

our precious sweet mothers

who are no longer close by,

we can guide one another

and share our hearts,

share our grief

as we fall apart.

We can speak our sorrows,

make time to meet,

help each other

get back on our feet.

What we’ve lost

can never be replaced,

we long for our mother,

just to see her face.

I like to imagine my mother with me in spirit,

she’s in nature and beauty

and a bird’s song when I hear it.

Some of us sense our mothers close by;

some of us lose her completely when she dies.

Our experiences differ,

our beliefs aren’t the same,

but because we long for our mothers,

we know each other’s pain.

We are motherless daughters,

a tribe of our own;

let’s connect and share our stories,

we are not alone.

by Carmel Breathnach 2017

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

12 Ideas for Motherless Daughters on Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day is challenging for those of us without our mothers. It’s a difficult day for people who never knew their mothers and for those abandoned by the person who was supposed to love them more than anything. I was blessed to have a devoted and loving mother for the first eleven years of my life. My post is written from this perspective.

Over the years I’ve written previous pieces about Mother’s Day. I personally experience two every year: Ireland’s Mother’s Day in March, and here in the USA in May. As I’m from Ireland my feed announces Mother’s Day in all of its glory both times of the year. Around the globe mothers are celebrated and this is a wonderful thing, but for many it is a sad day.

Dad found this little card that I made for Mam when I was five or six years old. The card and sweet message inside bring me close to tears because Mam died when I was only eleven.

Motherless women are asking how they should spend Mother’s Day when they no longer have their mother around to celebrate. For some it is the dreaded first Mother’s Day since a mother’s death and it’s probably going to be very painful. But there are things we can do to make it bearable, and maybe fun. Here are 12 ideas:

1. Find a time in the day, preferably morning to meditate for about 5 or 10 minutes , whatever feels good to you. Light a scented candle. Sit comfortably with your eyes closed and invite your mother into your space. Hold her in your thoughts. Focus on the gratitude you feel for her and the gift of life that she gave you. Reflect on some memories you have of her. Let the tears flow if they come. Grief is love, remember. Breathe.
2. Display a picture of your mother in a prominent place. Wear a pendant containing her photograph throughout the day. Hold her in your heart. Speak to her.
3. Buy a beautiful bouquet of flowers, for your mother, and place them in your home. Flowers lend cheer and beauty to a space. They can remind you of the love you have for your mother and the love she had for you.
4. Is there a song that reminds you of your mother? Or a song that brings you peace? A song that deeply moves me is Eric Clapton’s ‘Tears in Heaven’. The first time I heard it I thought the song had been written for me. Have a good cry if you need to.
5. Create a collage using pictures from magazines or inspiring photo journals. Paste pictures that remind you of your mother onto a large piece of card stock or paperboard. I did this once with the Portland Motherless Daughter’s group when I was the organizer. We sat around together working quietly on our collages and then those who wanted to, shared their pictures. The collages were beautiful.
6. If you are a mother let yourself be treated by your family and celebrated. It is what your mother would want. And you deserve it.
7. Go to your local bookstore, your library, or online if that’s your preference and order one of the books on my list of 10 Books I Recommend for Motherless Daughters. I suggest going to a bookstore or library because the act of getting out of the house with a goal in mind will allow you to focus on something else for a while. Perhaps you’ll pass a beautiful tree on your drive or better yet, on your walk if that is an option. If you have one of these books already at home you might want to settle in to a cozy chair with a cup of hot tea or coffee and reread it.
8. Read blog posts by motherless daughters. Reading about other people’s experiences can bring comfort. One feels understood and less alone. My blog A LOVELY WOMAN has several blog entries about mother loss and I also have a Facebook page where I post about grief regularly. Project Brave birds is an inspiring page dedicated to celebrating the journeys and achievements of brave girls and women who have lost their mothers around the world. Without My Mum is an active private group page hosted by Leigh Van Der Horst where women share their feelings on mother loss and offer up support. And the Motherless Daughters Facebook community page shares many articles on mother loss including my own. These are valuable and loving places to go for comfort and support.
9. Write a letter to your mother. This is therapeutic and can be a valuable exercise while grieving. Let yourself cry and laugh as you write & release whatever needs to pour from you. Is there something you really want to share with your mother today?Put down the words. It may even turn into a book!
10. If you know somebody who has lost their mother invite them to meet for coffee or a walk in the park. Dedicate an hour to talking about your mothers. Or seek out a Motherless Daughters meetup group in your city. Host a potluck for motherless daughters or work on that collage I mentioned previously with other motherless daughters. Spend time with those who understand the tremendous impact of this great loss.
11. Take part in this new Mother’s Day gift swap idea. I’m unable to participate this year but I’d love to hear from those of you who try it.
12. If you just want to get away from it all plan a trip. Travel somewhere you’ve always been curious about. Go in honor of your mother. Plan something ahead of time that will keep your mind off the “Hallmark” holiday. I often take a trip on this day and I will be traveling again this May. I make the day about what I want it to be. If you can’t afford to travel somewhere or you can’t get away for an entire day take a walk in your favorite park, go for a short hike or a drive in the countryside. Go solo or bring your favorite person or your beloved pet. Immerse yourself in nature. It’s truly healing.

We are going to feel lonely, sad and possibly unheard this Mother’s Day. It isn’t helpful to conceal or deny our emotions. But let us remember that we carry our mothers with us wherever we go. They live on through us and they want us to be happy and to live our lives in joy. This is not always easy, but I believe it’s possible and it’s certainly worth a try.

Much love,

Carmel X

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They are not dead who live
In hearts they leave behind.
In those whom they have blessed
They live a life again,
And shall live through the years
Eternal life, and grow
Each day more beautiful
As time declares their good,
Forgets the rest, and proves
Their immortality.

They Softly Walk by Hugh Robert Orr

Mother’s Day Without My Mother

A spiritual healer once gave me this advice: “Close your eyes and visualize yourself as a young child when you were feeling anxious.You didn’t even realize you were scared. Now hold that child close to you and whisper to her that she will be okay. Tell her that she is not alone. Hold her. Let her rest against you. Visualize it. She’ll hear you.”

I performed the visualization. I hope it helped little me. It helps now just to imagine that I am holding my five year old self tight, hugging me close, running my fingers through my soft, shampooed hair.

Love is really the only thing that counts, isn’t it? We all crave it. Everybody wants to be loved. And if we are fortunate enough to have love in our lives, we do everything we can to hold on to it. When somebody we love loves us back, wants to hold us, hear what we have to say and spend time with us, it is a gift like no other. When we lose that somebody, the grief we experience feels unbearable.

But grief is love that is stored inside of us with no place to go. We grieve because we have loved. And to love is a beautiful thing.

This past week I read a very sad story. I read that a beautiful family has been ripped apart suddenly and tragically, a young nursing mother left to raise her newborn baby in the wake of losing her four year old daughter. The young woman’s husband sustained serious brain injuries and is fighting for his life. This story choked me up. There is so much sadness and tragedy in our world. I find it hard to take sometimes. I’m a highly sensitive person which according to Susan Cain, author of ‘Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking‘ means that I ‘feel exceptionally strong emotions-sometimes acute bouts of joy, but also sorrow, melancholy, and fear.’ I also believe that I have a deeper empathy and compassion for those suffering as a result of the years I spent watching my mother battle cancer. I know what it feels like to be afraid of losing someone you love, to feel helpless as you watch them suffer, to lose that person and never see them again. It’s a pain so cutting and deep that it can take your breath away.

This Sunday, March 26, is Mother’s Day in Ireland where I grew up. It is Mother’s Day in the UK and in other parts of the world. I’ve already planned an escape for our USA Mother’s Day in May. Everyone will celebrate their mothers, as they should, but it’s really, really hard for those of us who have lost ours. We are forced to remember exactly what we live without.

I’m reading a book called ‘The Happiness Project‘ at the moment. It’s a great book by Gretchen Rubin about finding happiness in everyday places and things. I’m generally a happy person. I’m full of gratitude for many aspects of my life but I wanted to see what I could learn from this happiness project of hers. Only a few pages in the author needs advice so she calls her mother for a ‘pep talk.’ Then she casually mentions that throughout her life her mother made her feel ‘that nothing was insurmountable.’ There it is! That jolt of awareness! That sadness in my chest because I didn’t have that. There were no phone calls to my mother for pep talks. She wasn’t there after my eleventh year.

Mother’s Day during my school years were the worst. Teachers encouraged us all to create cards or dedicate art projects to our mothers. None of my teachers ever addressed the fact that I no longer had a mother. I felt awkward, different, sad, bewildered. I probably doodled on a page or drew a picture for Dad. I don’t remember exactly what I did, but I remember the pain in my heart on those occasions and just feeling so left out.

This coming Mother’s Day I want to visualize eleven year old me. I want to hold her close and whisper that she is loved and that she will be okay. I got this. I am strong. My mother is with me always. I am part of her and she is part of me. Blessed to still have my dad, I carry his love with me everyday, and I carry the strength of my ancestors who have gone before us.

I know that there are people around the world suffering great sadness and injustices as I write. Their pain is my pain. Their joy is my joy. For those people fortunate enough to still have their mothers and to be mothers, I wish them all a day filled with love and happiness. And for those of us who have loved and lost, I hear you and I see you. We understand each other’s sorrow. Let’s lift each other up in whatever ways we can. Let’s honor the mothers in all of us, every day. The world needs more mothering and more love.

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.