Cucumber Slices and Cups of Tea: The Love is Always Louder

There’s a particular kind of hurt that comes from remembering the warmth of someone who is no longer physically here. In the last two years, that ache seems to deepen in the days leading up to Mother’s Day.

Every year, we made a point of celebrating our mother. Breakfast in bed or a seven colours lunch (depending on church), homemade cards, flowers, and sometimes even freshly baked muffins. A fairly simple tradition, admittedly one I never thought too much about over the years. But now, the absence and the inability to physically celebrate her on a day when so many others still can…it stings. I suppose you don’t realize how much those simple rituals mean until you’re faced with the reality that you’ll never get to have another day like that again.

In my many quiet moments, I have often struggled with the ‘should, woulda, coulda’ phenomenon. I could have handled her with more care, I could have spoiled her a little more, I wish I went on those walks she always asked me to accompany her on, I definitely should have taken more pictures with her…I wish I wish I wish.

The guilt that tends to follow grief.

But this year, I chose something different. I chose to feel the ache but also allow in the good. I might not have listened to all her stories (because goodness they were too long) but I made her tea every night and no, we did not take those walks but we spent most Saturday mornings in our pyjamas talking about everything and everyone.

This year I chose to remember her lopsided smile and her absolutely insane obsession with cucumber. How she loved to sing even though she could barely hold a note, how at 27 I slammed the car door on my thumb and she held me in her lap whilst I cried like a baby (True story).

I guess my learnings this past Mother’s day - is that grief doesn’t necessarily go away, it just evolves into something different. One day you can barely get out of bed and the next you’re laughing at a memory the two of you shared (most of them, she was shouting at me for something ridiculous.)

Mother's day has come and gone and although I may not be able to make her tea or bake her muffins early in the morning, I continue to carry her with me in small ways: in laughter, in gossip sessions, in cucumber slices, and cups of tea... :)

To anyone who felt a little tender these last couple of days, you weren’t alone. Grief may sit quietly in the room, but so does love - and the love is always louder. X

The Gist : Maybe Mother’s day isn’t just about presence, but legacy, the rituals, the quirks and quiet comforts that linger long after the fact. Maybe that’s where the real celebration lives now : in the bits of her that show up, unexpectedly in all that she’s left behind.