My first birthday without a Mum
Albeit in the midst of a mandatory lockdown during a global pandemic.
Now that we’re back in lockdown, I can no longer get away with saying my hobbies are going to gigs and eating pizza at my fave dive bar (thanks a lot, 2020). So now, my favourite hobby is writing about my feelings. Mainly because it’s like free therapy and, as an added bonus, it means I get to torture you by making you read whatever I decide to word vomit on the internet. It’s a win-win, really.
For those wondering (literally nobody), my second favourite hobby is a tie between singing lyrics in a really bad Australian accent and making silly online purchases after a few wines — most recently, the glorious pink polyester nightmare that was my ridiculous birthday outfit a few days ago.
While we’re still on the birthday-train (pretty sure this particular train ride lasts a whole month for Leos, just FYI), I have felt compelled to document the weirdness that was my first birthday without a Mum, which just so happened to be without the rest of my family, in the midst of a mandatory lockdown, set against the backdrop of a global pandemic. What. A. Time. I struggle to articulate how it feels to no longer have her here, but if you know me, you’ll know I try to speak pretty openly about it. Like I said, free therapy.
On my birthday last year, we got together as a family to celebrate over a long lunch (any excuse to get day drunk). It felt surreal because we all knew it would be the last time Mum would be there with us. How do you even prepare yourself for that? Even though logically I knew in my mind she was dying, she was sitting there, a little ray of sunshine with us, making silly jokes and giggling at herself like she always did. It wasn’t until a week or two later when we sat by her hospice bed that it started to feel more real. That’s the funny thing about death. One day they’re here and the next they’re not. I still can’t wrap my head around that.
This past year has been pretty strange, and it wasn’t really until I lost my job in March at the beginning of the first lockdown that I had any time or space to grieve. Even then, in an attempt to keep my mental health intact, I filled my days with activities and projects to distract from the possibility that I might find myself sitting at home alone with nothing but my thoughts.
But the day before my birthday this year, I sat at home alone with nothing but my thoughts. And I cried. I cried for my beautiful Mama who I will never get the chance to smoosh into a giant hug or dance like a total fool with again. I cried for the anxiety and uncertainty of what the future holds. I cried for the heartbreaking state of our world and for the people who are experiencing pain far more horrific than I ever will.
I woke up super early on my birthday to cuddle my cat and listen to people I love singing happy birthday to me through the phone. I went on a long walk in the sunshine. I patted dogs. I got see and speak to all the people I care about the most. I ate delicious food. I drunk danced to trash music in my lounge room. Despite missing Mum and feeling like the world is a mess, I had such a special day and felt so loved. That’s something I’ve learnt from Mum. To appreciate all the good things I am fortunate enough to have, even when the world around you feels like it’s falling apart. Even when she was in the hospice, dying too young, she was still expressing appreciation for the good things she had. I think that’s a pretty special quality that I will keep trying to emulate.
It sounds morbid, but I am so grateful that she died then, before all this shit, with us by her side, holding her hands, making sure she felt comforted and loved at the end of her life. I can’t even imagine how difficult it must be for anyone going through a similar situation now, alone and not being able to be with their loved ones like Mum was.
That said, I’m increasingly hyper-conscious of the fact that writing about anything lately has, to me, felt trivial and self-indulgent unless it’s about dismantling systems of oppression that continue to benefit some at the expense of others. I want to acknowledge that while I may be sharing something else important to me in this particular moment, I will continue to educate myself about how to be a better ally.
I’ve said this before and I’ll continue saying it forever: getting older is a privilege some don’t get a chance to have. So I’m trying to enjoy every birthday, even the weird ones like this.
