The Painful Days
We are heading into March, and while the shops are filling with bright daffodils and “World’s Best Mum” mugs, my heart is feeling a little heavier. As a Celebrant, I hold space for people who are navigating the early days of grief. The aim is often to get through the funeral. But what then?
The day after the funeral can be difficult as you watch your family and friends return to their normal lives. But you don’t have one, your normal ended with the death of your person, in my case, Ben.
Then the other days arrive, Christmas, Birthdays, Anniversaries…
When the Calendar becomes a Mountain
With Mother’s Day fast approaching, I’m reminded of how a date on a calendar can feel like a mountain you aren’t quite sure you are able to climb. For me, it is an intense reminder that my son, Ben, is no longer here to share it with me. No more broccoli soup for lunch or Mother’s Day visits.
If you have a date like that, a birthday, an anniversary, or a day like this one that feels more like a hurdle than a celebration, I want you to know that it is perfectly okay to find it heavy.
Random Acts of Kindness
When you are in the middle of a Painful Day, the fog can be so thick that you don’t even know what you need. Looking back on the years since Ben died, it wasn’t the big gestures that helped; it was the quiet, steady kindness of friends who didn’t wait to be asked.
That first Mother’s Day, a friend sent me a card. She didn’t try to “fix” it; she just acknowledged that I was still a mum and that she knew it was a tough day.
In the second year, a friend turned up with a full afternoon tea that his wife had made herself for my husband and me. She didn’t ask for a shopping list; she just brought the comfort to our door.
Ben’s best friend gives me flowers on Mother’s Day as we meet up at the cemetery. Seeing him, and knowing he is remembering Ben too, is a gift I can’t quite put into words.
These gestures don’t take the grief away, nothing can do that, but they help me feel seen. They remind me that I am not carrying the weight of Ben’s memory alone.
Finding Your Own Way Through
I wear a tattoo on my arm taken from the last Mother’s Day card Ben gave me. It is positioned so that I can place my lips on his name when the pain gets too much.
If you are dreading a date, please be gentle with yourself. There is no right or wrong way to get through it. I have a memory bear made from Ben’s dressing gown. Just holding it helps.
If all you do is get from breakfast to bedtime, that is a success.
If the Happy Mother’s Day posts on social media feel like salt in a wound, put your phone in a drawer.
If a friend offers a cuppa or a cake, let them. You don’t have to be good company; you just have to be you.
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A Note for Friends
If you know someone is facing a Painful Day, please don’t be afraid of reminding them of their loss. I promise you, they haven’t forgotten. Hearing their loved one’s name is often exactly what they need to feel supported.
Be the person who sends the card, drops off the tea, or brings the flowers. It won’t stop the pain, but it might just be the lifeline they need to get through the day.
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