Remembering Mum on Mother's Day

Today is Mother's Day here in the UK, and my first without Mum. There will be a lot of first's. Her first birthday (which we had just two days after Mum passed away), Mother's Day, Easter and Christmas. Even our first anniversary without her.

I always used to joke with Mum that the reprieve of gift buying between Easter and Christmas was welcomed as between February and April, Mum always received her birthday, Mother's Day and Easter gifts. Typically she received something to add to her collection of Aynsley Wild Tudor, which you can see in the back of the photograph here. Mum always referred to it as her predicable surprise!

So many firsts and yet as each one passes, even though Mum passed away just six weeks ago, I feel I have reached some sort of milestone. Whether I have or not is a different matter, but it feels that way. I think of Mum many times each day. I probably always did, but am now just more aware of it.

I came across this poem recently and the first time I read it I was very overcome. Since then I have read it about five or six times and each time I feel just as sad and lost without her, but more reassured, comforted and aware of the strength that I need, and that Mum had.

Today is a sad day, but it also gives me an opportunity to say thanks to Mum for the wonderful memories and the many Mother's Day's we had together.

All is well

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I, and you are you,
Whatever we were to each other, that we still,
Call me by my old familiar name,
Speak to me in the same easy way which you always did,
Put no difference into your tone;
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect, without the shadow of a ghost on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was; there is absolutely unbroken continuity,
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am just waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well.

By Canon Henry Scott Holland