Reflections of Mother’s Day as a Motherless, Childless Woman

A couple of Sunday's ago my evening viewing was upset a little by the chosen format for that night’s edition of The Big Painting Challenge (BBC One, 19th March 2017).  The first task of the final was portrait painting and the four remaining contestants were surprised when one of their parents entered the room as their subject matter. Later on in the show, in preparation for the announcement of the winner, the mothers and fathers were joined by several more family members who admired the artwork and stayed for the result. As a widow, with no children, no siblings, and whose parents are both dead, whilst watching the programme, I was struck and disturbed, as I regularly am, by my lack of familial connection. And then the Sunday following came Mother’s Day; a date on the calendar that has long been difficult for me and especially painful since the death of my mother in January 2012.

My identity as non-mother is a complex one which impacts on my status and experience as a woman for parenthood is repeatedly equated with adulthood and the qualities of ‘good’ mother, not least as selfless nurturer, are often seen as synonymous with ‘good’ womanhood. So, if motherhood is really about nurturing and not merely (even) about biological and kinship connections surely I am a mother for I helped to care for my late husband's two sons during their teenage years and into their twenties. But, when I came into their lives John's sons already had a mother, something I never denied. So, although I cleaned and cooked, provided financial support, advice and affection I was always Gayle, never mum. This struck me even more when, close to the end of their father’s life, my husband’s sons became estranged from him and thus became estranged from me also (their’ choice). So, if in reality, for many, motherhood is about biology and biological connections I am a mother in that I carried a child for 16 weeks. But, I was never able to name my biological child or hold it (you see it doesn’t even have a sex) or play with it. So, in both these cases then was/am I nearly a mother but not quite, not really? Certainly this was the view of the editor of a journal who accepted an article I had written on my experience but wanted me to change my reference to a ‘parenting relationship' with John’s two sons’ to ‘a kind of parenting relationship' . . .

Thirty-two years ago when I had my miscarriage my central aim was to be a mother and I felt that I was only half a woman without a child.  Any doubts or ambivalences I had about becoming a mother I denied. I now feel very different. I no longer see myself as a lesser woman (or less than adult) for not mothering children. I am also able to accept the equivocal nature of my desires - that is, a part of me enjoys the freedom that I have had and have because of my biologically childless state. And if I had become a biological mother I know that I would have felt opposing emotions in relation to that experience also. Of course I can not know how my life would have turned out if I had carried my baby successfully to term. My return to education a couple of years after my loss would likely not have happened but given the opportunities I have not had I will be forever grateful for the fulfillment my studies and subsequent work in higher education have given me. It is not only the intellectual stimulation I am thankful for but also the relationships I have made with students and younger colleagues. Indeed, most of my working life, as nursery nurse and as academic, has provided me with opportunities to support and encourage younger people. Although, I am amongst the first to critique the view that women should automatically be expected to care at work as well as at home, personally I feel privileged to be able to do this.

As a daughter I find it much easier to position myself. A beloved only child; I was always cherished by my parents. During my childhood and adolescence we were a happy threesome and our life together often felt like an adventure. My father, Ron, died when I was 20 years old, 38 years ago, but I still feel his positive influence in my life, relevant here, not least, in his encouragement to read and to write. Inevitably, my mother, Dorothy, was my main support when my dad died, and again and again through my miscarriage, my own particular in/fertility journey, a divorce from my first husband and the longtime illness and death of my second husband (John). A few years ago at a conference I attended the keynote speaker suggested that it is only when women become mothers themselves that they fully understand and appreciate their own mothers. Clearly this is a discussion from which I am excluded; to add to the suggestion by some that non-mothers can have little to say about children, childcare, even ‘real’ womanhood. All I know is how much my mum and I loved each other, how much fun we had together and how, although I miss her every day, I feel as if she, (and my dad and John) left me with enough love and positivity to last a lifetime.

My mum and I enjoyed our Mother’s Days together. We were of course aware of the ‘Hallmark’ hype but still it was an excuse, as if we needed one, to have a good time in each others’ company. This year I remembered with bitter sweetness our last one together and many, many other good and not so good experiences, activities and events that we shared.

Overall, I believe that I am lucky. Lucky to have had a life thus far full of good, kind and interesting people, lucky to have a life full up with so much encouragement, support, love and care. Despite my present lack of biological family I am not alone in the world and the term friends-as-family applies to a wonderful cluster of people to whom I am close. I feel especially fortunate to have friends across a wide age range and on Mother’s Day the younger folk in my life who show me affection and, also importantly, accept affection from me, warm my heart.  I know that not everyone is so blessed.