Those who lose loved ones dread ‘firsts’. The first birthday without them. The first anniversary of their death. The first Christmas. Today was the first Mother’s Day my sisters and I have spent without our beloved mother, Jane. She died on June 9th last year. Not a day goes by without her entering my thoughts. The tears are streaming as I write this. Esther Rantzen recently said she would give ten years of her life for ten more minutes with her husband Desmond. I know exactly how she feels. There’s a special bind between a mother and a son and there have been so many occasions over the last nine months when I would have given anything to be able to pick up the phone and talk to her about things that had happened.
I still can’t quite come to terms with the fact that she’s gone. I want to be able to ring her after my first Drivetime show tomorrow and for her to tell me how brilliantly I have done, even if I haven’t. But I won’t be able to. I want her to come and stay in our new house in Norfolk, somewhere she loved. But she can’t. I’d love to have a faith which allowed me to really believe that her spirit lives on and she is watching over me. But I don’t.
So to those of you whose mothers are still with us, cherish them. If you haven’t spoken to your mother today, it’s not too late. Pick up the phone. Tell her you love her, even if you find that sort of thing difficult. One day it may be too late.
I was lucky. My mum knew how much I loved her. I told her repeatedly. My sisters and I count ourselves as blessed that we had her for a mother. No child could have ever wished for a better mother. And today we remember her with so much love and warmth.
Now, where’s that Kleenex?
