Some days , if I screw my eyes tightly shut I can remember her beautiful face without the help of Kodak.
Over thirty years have passed but I miss my Mum every day and whenever the opportunity arises to celebrate our short lived love I seize it .
The origins of Mothering Sunday date back to the ancient Greeks who honoured Rhea the Mother of the Gods. Later the Christians celebrated Mary Mother of Christ and eventually, by religious order, this celebration , held on the fourth Sunday of lent was extended to the Mothers of England.On this day servants were granted leave to return to their family home to spend the day with their mothers.
Over the course of time this wonderful tradition ceased and it was not until 1905 , influenced by Julia Howe an American peace activist in the 1870’s, that a young woman named Anna Jarvis , wracked with grief after the death of her beloved mother decided to dedicate her life to her Mothers cause and establish Mother’s Day , honouring Mothers living and dead.
Annas dream came true on May 9th 1914 when the presidential proclamation declared the second Sunday in May to be observed as Mothering Sunday.
Today Mother’s Day is a day honouring Mothers, celebrated on various days around the world.
A day to acknowledge your Mothers contribution in your life and pay tribute to her with flowers and gifts.
Mothering Sunday is by far our favourite date on the calendar, children in their pyjamas exchanging a fist full of pocket money for a bunch of daffodils sets the mood for the day, although I did once have a little boy who asked if I sold stinging nettles !!
I have always paralleled Mothering Sunday with the onset of spring; it seems the shop is suddenly bursting with colour and scent , Mother Nature at her most gluttonous.
The impact of this assault on the senses is incredible ; we have so many people just popping their head in to tell us they can smell spring the moment they step off their daily commute .
Perfume is very evocative and has the ability to transport us back in time, smell sweet peas and I am aged five in my Grandfathers garden catching ladybirds and eating peas from their pods.
It will be the humble freesia that I am savouring on Mother’s Day, always her favourite. Each year I make garlands and posies and hang them from the rather impressive olive tree in my garden which I planted in my Mum’s memory some time ago.
And when we close the doors and head to the pub I will steal a quiet moment to release some balloons and probably a few tears.