It’s the morning after another Mother’s Day, and I feel I can now come out of hibernation and rejoin the world again. I’ve talked about it before, but it’s an odd day for me. Bittersweet. And so now, I shy away from people, from social media, from family. I don’t even leave the house. Visiting Mum’s grave just ironically feels forced on a day like Mother’s Day, the one day I should visit, and the pressure is too much.


I spent yesterday much like I do when I’m poorly. I invest in self-care, in doing things I like doing, that I want to do. I cooked a lovely breakfast for Dexter and I because as much as the thought was there, and he did offer, I think we both prefer it if I cook 🙂  He did write me the most beautiful message in a card though, that I will add to my box of treasure … aka, my kids’ old baby teeth, my 40th birthday cards and ancient majorette medals. A somewhat eclectic mix.


I baked brownies at lunchtime, guessing the quantities needed and just trusting my judgement that everything would turn out OK. A metaphor for life as well as brownies. (And sure enough, they were delicious.) I strapped my Silk’nLipo to various parts of my body as I watched Nothing to Declare on loop, watching my rolls of fat gently vibrate. Really rather therapeutic (but alas, no six-pack just yet.) I debated going to the gym, but couldn’t quite muster up the enthusiasm to speak to other people, so I dyed my hair instead.


  • I had a scalding hot bath using my favourite potions and lotions usually reserved for date nights.
  • I did my filing that I’d put off for two months.
  • My eldest text me and we chatted, and I had to tell him I couldn’t move to where he lives, but I promised I’d make the distance between us work somehow.
  • Dexter and I had burger and chips for tea, because you shouldn’t have to cook every meal on Mother’s Day.
  • I finally cleaned my bedroom windowsill.
  • I moved all my hair products from my bedroom to Ben’s room (now my dressing room.)
  • I cleaned my dressing table with apple-scented floor wipes.
  • Booked a hotel for Thursday for when I have my photoshoot in Chester.
  • I ate some of the chocolates Dexter bought me. But not the Turkish Delight. Or coffee cream.


But I didn’t cry. The saddest of all days for a mother-less person, but I didn’t cry. I kept busy, I enjoyed spending sporadic moments with Dexter when he deigned to grace me with his teenage presence, I ate tasty food and wore pyjamas all day. But I didn’t cry. Because the thing about grief, even if it is 13 years old, is that it’s not prescriptive. I mean you can’t be sad just because Card Factory is telling me I need to be sad because I don’t have anyone to buy a card for.


(These photo are on my bedside table. The photo on the left is my late Auntie Lynne and Mum (on the right) in matching beehives. And the photo on the right is my late Granddad, Mum, Dad chilling and me – in Majorca I think.)



I mean I am sad, but I cried on Tuesday when I saw a woman my age buy her mum a coffee. And I cried on Friday when someone walked past me wearing Opium, Mum’s old perfume. And I’ll no doubt cry another 100 times this year on any other day than Mother’s Day because I miss her when I least expect it.


I got through yesterday by looking after myself. If that means momentarily hibernating from the world, so be it.  I enjoyed seeing brief glimpses of friends sharing photos of their mums. Seeing written declarations of how much their mums mean to them because whenever I see someone with their mum, especially if the woman is my age, I want to run up to them and shout at the top of my voice, “TELL YOUR MUM YOU LOVE HER! RIGHT THIS MINUTE! TELL HER!” Because I don’t think I told my Mum, and then she was gone, and it still haunts me.


Whatever your situation, I hope you got through yesterday OK. I hope somehow, in some way, it was full of love.


Normal service is resumed now of course. I’m off to the hospital this morning to have a cheeky Botox check-up (and hope that somehow he agrees to keep it topped up because I love it … but hate myself for loving it!), and I even have a couple of dates planned this week. Life, somehow, just goes on doesn’t it?


kate sutton

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