Opinion: Marie Curie helping those who find Mother's Day a sad time

Bottomless brunches, afternoon teas, spa days, mini breaks, gin bars and endless gift guides flogging just about everything a mother could possibly want, from body butter to Mom Jeans (‘give her the gift of comfort’, says the blurb). Surely a pair of Mom Jeans would be an even worse Mother’s Day present than a set of tea-towels or a new iron or, as my brother once treated our mum to, a couple of tins of peas.

But hey, what do I know? I no longer have a mother, nor am I a mother, so this annual mum-fest means little to me. It’s just a constant stream of press releases offering “Ultimate Gift Guides” and the “Most Amazing Mother’s Day Experiences Ever”, and I get so many of them every day that I hit ‘Delete’ on auto-pilot.

But the other day there was one email that stood out from the rest. Just three words in the subject box: “Are you OK?”

I get more than 200 emails a day, and none of them ask if I’m okay. So this was a bit like a hug, in the middle of the day, from someone who gets it. It was from Marie Curie, and they know that this time of year, with its bouquets and bottomless brunches, can be tough for those of us without mothers.

Marie Curie has coping strategies for anyone struggling this Mother’s Day: Allow yourself to grieve; Do things differently this year; Be kind to yourself; Ask for support if you think you need it; Don’t be scared to remember your mum - light a candle, raise a glass, look at photos, share happy memories; Involve children in decisions on how they want to spend the day.

It’s good, sensible advice from the end of life charity that knows how this one day, and the build-up to it, can be incredibly difficult and sad for many people.

Marie Curie's Great Daffodil Appeal continues this month. Pic: Marie Curie 

“It’s commercial nonsense,” said a friend, who refuses to acknowledge Mother’s Day and has always insisted that her children don’t waste their money on it. And yes, like everything else, it has become an industry, an excuse for gastro pubs to crank up the price of Sunday lunch, and many gift ideas are over the top, expensive and plain daft.

But Mothering Sunday is part of the Church calendar, and it did mean something to my mum, who was a church-goer. She certainly didn’t expect anything fancy; she was happy with a bunch of flowers, but it was a day when she liked a bit of fuss. As children we made her homemade cards and breakfast in bed, and I was touched to discover, after she died, that she’d kept those cards. I still feel guilty about the time when I was away at university and forgot to send her a Mother’s Day card, and she later sounded a little hurt on the phone. I probably dismissed it at the time as “commercial nonsense” but now I wince at how selfishly caught up in my own life I was that I hadn’t given her a second thought.

We take our mothers for granted, and to a certain extent that’s how it should be. But it’s important, at times, to let them know how much we appreciate them - before it’s too late. Mother’s Day is one of those times. And I reckon a homemade card and a modest bunch of flowers says much more than an overpriced spa break in a snooty country hotel. My mum was tickled pink when she got those tins of peas from my eight-year-old brother - he won them on a tombola and hid them away till Mother’s Day. “Mums go shopping so they like tins”, was his logic - and she laughed about it over the years .

Now I find Mother’s Day is a bit sad because she’s no longer here, and I’m relieved when it’s over and there are no more of those wretched gift guides flooding into my emails.

So thank you Marie Curie, for those three words. They mean the world when you no longer have a mum looking out for you.