motherless mothering

Dear Olive,
My three people, their excellent gift to me (thanks Shane!), the crisp sunny weather, plenty of great food, and a visit to an iconic Sydney house. (How divine is that Australian bush setting?) It all came together for a wonderfully memorable (and surprisingly harmonious) mothers day - my guys made me feel genuinely special, and very loved. 
It would have been perfect; if only my Mum were here to share it, too. Motherhood really is my greatest privilege, and I've missed my Mum every step of the way.
(Have a read of Missing Mum on Mothers Day - a bit heart wrenching, if you've lost your Mum too.)

twelve

Dear Olive,
It is twelve years yesterday since my Mum died. It's a long time. It was before you or Clancy were born; before I met Shane; before I worked in film; before, in a sense, I really became an adult. A lifetime ago. And (sadly) most of the time it feels like a lifetime ago. But then there are other times, the memory will be so clear, the pain and love so sharp, that it could have been only days.

I don't know if I believe in an afterlife; I tend to think we're all just matter - us, nature, and the universe. One and the same. But on occasion, and only ever by the sea, the clouds have parted and the light has shone through, and I thought I could feel her with me.

Ten

Dear Olive,
It's been ten years now, without my Mum. I can't really put into words exactly what this means, or feels. But in ten years, she's missed out on a lot. (As have we, missed out on her.) I don't know if she is, but I hope she's out there somewhere, watching sometimes. Smiling.

Books. I Just Love Books.

Dear Olive,
Books, I just love books ... said my Mum once. She filled her house with them, piling her bookshelves up to the ceiling, always more than a few on her bedside table. And she was a voracious reader; she would pack her suitcase with a stack of books for holidays, and still find she ran out of things to read.
Mum passed on her love of books to me. In primary school, I blitzed the read-a-thons, and in early high school I'd devour a babysitters club in the time between arriving home from school and dinner. (A few years later, it was Virginia Andrews ... it's all coming out now!) These days, I still couldn't think of a better way to spend an afternoon, than reading. Books, I just love books.
And now, it seems, it's your turn. We've read to you since birth, and you have long been happy sitting and "reading" through piles and piles of books on your own. Over Christmas, we entered a whole new world of books to read together. Chapter books. We've burned through Heidi and Pippi Longstocking, and we're now 3/4 of the way through The Magic Faraway Tree (a big childhood favourite of mine - anything Enid Blyton, really. Although goodness me, reading it now, hello sexism!). I adore seeing how much you're loving it, so excitedly anticipating what's to come in the next chapter. Ahead of you, is a lifetime of loving of books, something you have my Mum to thank for. Books, you just love books.
A wise old person once said to me ... learn to read and you'll never be bored. And I couldn't agree more.

We'd love to know everyone else's favourite chapter books?

Muttonbird Island

Dear Olive,

Almost every morning, my Dad takes the walk up muttonbird island. It's a steep, tiny hill of an island connected to the mainland by a breakwall and it's become somewhat of a tradition for him (as it was for my Mum), and a few of his mates. They meet down there at 6.45 sharp and set off (if you're not on time, you'd better be prepared to run). And if you're visiting Dad, you’re hard pressed to get out of climbing muttonbird too. Pre-grandchildren, Dad used to run up and down the hall, clapping his hands to get everyone in the house up - thank goodness he had the good sense to put that to bed (ha!) since the appearance of all the babes. But he still does his best (with a far more sensible knock on the bedroom door) to get everyone to join him. Sleepless newborns, swollen glands, torrential rain, hangovers, only having packed thongs. None are considered passable excuses to get out of the morning walk, or so we've all discovered over the years. So, despite the rain, and the cold, and the wild seas; off we set. It’s always worth it when you get there, though, the views and the clifftops, the fresh sea air and the sense of utter peace, are really very special. Strangely enough (and even though I’m not sure I really believe in an afterlife), the top of muttonbird is the only place I’ve ever really thought I’ve felt the presence of my Mum. Just the once. The sun came through the clouds and I felt her arms around me. 
And although I would love to show you the views, on this time we didn't make it up. Halfway along the breakwall, the weather turned, and so did we; directly back to the cafe. Such a shame. Our consolation prize was one of the biggest, fullest, glowing-est rainbows I've ever seen.

Mother's Day

Dear Olive,
Every year, on mothers day (and a few other special dates), my Dad sends an email to Hayes, Anika and I. He tells us it was Mums dying wish that he never let us forget how much she loved us. Yesterday he wrote ...
I just wanted to remind you what a truly special Mum you had. I know you don't need reminding but I promised Rose that I would never let you forget how much she loved you. We were all so lucky to have her. She would be proud of each of you. I know you still miss her.
Every year, it makes me cry, and yesterday was no exception.
(Thanks Dad xxxx.)

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Dear Olive,
I've been telling you lately about your middle name and where it came from and tonight I asked you if you'd like to see some photos of Rose. It's still sad for me to look at photos of my Mum, even though it's been eight years. The two of us snuggled up in our pyjamas on the bed together and went through my photo box. You were fascinated and after every photo asked for more. I miss your grandma Rose I told you. Miss Rose Mummy, you said back to me. I know you don't really understand, but at the same time it seemed like you did. Just for a moment.
PS The rain eased this afternoon and with it, our cabin fever, so relieved we were finally able to get out for a walk.
PPS Remember Madeleine our friend who gave us the vintage coats? She's also to thank for this beanie. What a score!

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Dear Olive,
Neither Shane or I feel the need to make a massive deal out of mothers day*. I think until the day you can get excited about it, we won't make too much fuss. Instead, I thought about my Mum. Every time I talk to you about her it's filled with sadness about how much I miss her, so here are some happy memories and funny facts about my Mum.
Mum used to bring her guitar in once a week and sing with my primary school class (mostly funny old folk/peace songs). Which was great fun, at the alternative school we went to in Sydney. But when we moved to the country and started attending the conservative, local primary school, it seemed the height of embarrassment to have Mum come in to sing, with her floor length skirts and hippy tunes. No one elses parents came in to our class. And when Mum used to get the guitar out of the case, she wouldn't bend her knees. The whole class could see her bum. The shame of it! 
The day I nervously started high school, in my first class, the teacher stopped at my name in roll call. Ah, Kellie, I think I met your Mum at the P&C meeting last night. It was the same at all my classes. Mum had apparently been quite a force at the first meeting. And when word got around the playground that my Mum was trying to ban junk food in the canteen, I wasn't exactly the most popular kid at school for a few days! 
But people loved her, many of my high school teachers came to her funeral (it was years since any of us had attended) and told us how determined and fiery she could be, with a warm smile on their face. 
One day Mum and I picked up all the rubbish that littered our country road from the nearby McDonalds and drove around their car park and drive through, throwing it out the window piece by piece.
Mum could sometimes get a bit lively on a little too much wine. In fact, she was even apparently obscenely drunk when she married Dad. She didn't even remember the ceremony. (Sorry, Mum, I know you'd be so embarrassed to know I let that one slip!) 
The most important thing about her, was the unconditional love and support and friendship she gave me. It endures in me to this day. She was such a fun, funny, intelligent, loving, strong Mum. I hope I can be the same for you. 
*Having said that, I did receive a sleep-in, cool trackies, yummy breakfast, flowers and the most beautiful Banksy card. A blank Banksy card. Which was left, with a pen. Shane suggestion was how about I fill it out myself and he could sign at the bottom?!

Birthday Blues

Dear Olive,
I'm having a bit of a rough week - today is my Mum's birthday. Sometimes it takes me by surprise that the sadness comes so easily on these anniversary days, but I suppose they're the only days I allow the sadness to fill me up and just be. Were she still alive, Mum'd be turning 61 today. I wonder what she'd look like now, maybe she'd be having a party we'd be going to this weekend. One of the things that upsets me the most is that I find it so hard to really imagine any of these things, it scares me that maybe I've forgotten what it was like to have her in my life. I hate that it feels so long ago that she was here.

Sides

Dear Olive,


A lot of people say you look like your Dadda. When are you going to start looking like my side of the family?

Rose

Dear Olive,


I'm feeling rather melancholic today, and the weather has obliged my mood, presenting us with a dreary, drizzly day. Perhaps today is a good day to tell you a bit about why your middle name is Rose. Rose is my Mums name and she was, hands down, The Best Mum. I was so lucky to have her. She was loving, supportive, intelligent, crazy, interesting, totally hilarious, a feminist. She was one of the quickest walkers I've ever known and she had the most amazing ability to laugh at herself (which was pretty lucky as she did a lot of silly things. My family will fondly remember how she used to muddle up the on-off record button up on the video camera every time she used it. Inadvertently failing to capture all our big events but recording a lot of the ground and muffled conversations about nothing when she thought the camera was off.) But the sadness I carry with me, is that we lost her. To cancer. Seven years ago. As I write it down, seven years looks like a long time, but it's not for something like this. Life has gone on even though she's not here, and my family slowly, slowly learnt to exist despite the big hole Mum left in our lives and hearts. After a while, that hole even started to close a little, and somehow the pain wasn't quite so sharp anymore. But since I had you, this has changed. The hole, that had gotten a little bit smaller, got bigger again. And started hurting. It hurts because my Mum will never get to meet you, have the pleasure of seeing you smile and won't ever get to simply wonder in the sheer amazement of you. She would have loved you so much. And I know she would be proud of me. A midwife told me when you were born that the way we hold our children is learned from the way our parents held us. So, perhaps there is a little bit of my Mums love being passed on to you through my arms. I like the idea of that.