Motherless on Mother’s Day: How growing up without a mum shaped me

As Mother’s Day approaches and shops are filled with soppy cards and pretty flowers, I feel a sense of emptiness and dread. My mum died of lung cancer when I was three and my sister was seven. All I have of her is a few photos, one hazy memory and a protruding nose – thanks, mum. Despite limited memories, the pang I have every time I see a Mother’s Day advert or get a promotional email with offers for mum never fades.

It is the same with Christmas, birthdays, and other people’s mum’s birthdays. Earlier this month was the 30 year anniversary of her death, which has made me reflect a lot more on what growing up without a mother has meant.

My sister and I are both fast approaching the age that she died. And it hasn’t gone unnoticed that my niece is now 18-months older than I was when my mum passed away. To imagine her without my sister’s love and motherly kindness is heart-breaking. I remember the 10th anniversary of my mum’s death – I was an unhappy teenager, prone to self-harm and destructive behaviour and the awareness of this loss exacerbated that.

In primary school, I lashed out at a classmate who audaciously told me that her dad living in South Africa was pretty much as if he was dead. In secondary school, I punched a boy in the face after he made some comment about my mum. Anger and frustration were all I had. I felt hard done by.

What have we done to deserve this? Why couldn’t my family be normal? We grew up in a white, middle-class neighbourhood in south Edinburgh in the ‘80s and ‘90s. But as children of a single, working-class and illiterate, Indian male immigrant, we weren’t dealt many easy cards.

My dad was undoubtedly judged because of his gender – and race – on whether he could parent two young girls, as it wasn’t the done thing back then. He was heartbroken. I look back now and recognise that he was also depressed.

I don’t think he ever recovered from losing his wife but somehow managed to survive for another 24 years until he too passed away, finally tired of everything life had thrown at him. My father understood that motherless girls needed what he might not be able to give. He instilled in us deep values of sisterhood. 14 reasons why you should love being a single parent He repeatedly told us that we would always have each other: ‘Friends and partners might come and go but you always have your sister.’

With dad working most days and night, my sister took on a quasi-parenting role. This ranged from coming to school parents’ evenings to explaining what periods were. Although she drew the line at explaining the facts of life – instead, she locked herself in the toilet when I asked what a condom was and got her friend to tell me instead. There had to be some level of normality between sisters after all.

We dealt with things that might seem trivial but, as a child, they can be painful. There was nobody to go on school trips with or bake cakes for school events because dad worked flat-out and had no time for such frivolous activities. Making Mother’s Day cards and gifts was exacerbating.

Teachers explained how to weave a basket out of paper and fill it with tissue flowers for mum; then to me, nervously, ‘or another woman in your life.’ We turned it into Sister’s Day at home. I watched longingly as a friend’s mum taught her how to pluck eyebrows and then turned to me to further impart her motherly wisdom.

It took me until my early 20s to properly trust other women. I had some negative experiences with female peers as a teen and without a mum to advise and support me, I didn’t deal with them very well. While growing up, I thought everything would be resolved when I became an adult myself but adulthood has thrown up all sorts of issues.

Being at friends’ weddings with their families surrounding them and hearing speeches full of love and happy memories can be massively painful. Hearing tales of brunching or shopping with mum fill me with envy.

Never having a mother/child relationship has made me scared of having my own children. How would I know what to do? What if they hated me or I hated them? Why would I want to give up the life I am finally in control of? However, being motherless has also given me some of my fiercest traits.

I have a huge amount of resilience. I use my strength to support others and have survived whatever life has thrown at me so far. I have been independent from a young age – doing shopping, topping up the electricity meter, ringing insurance companies and dealing with banks. Learning how to be an adult never fazed me and I’ve used these problem-solving and organisational skills to my advantage.

The challenges we faced growing up shaped my passion for equality and an urge to make a difference, no matter how big or small. I’m sure my friends would say that my love for intense, patterned and bold clothing (curtains and wallpaper as some friends say) came from my mum, who had a fashion boutique and did modelling in the ‘70s.

I understand the value of making the most of what you’ve got – be it harnessing relationships that really matter, taking on the opportunity to travel the world or being able to follow your passions while you still can. I know that I wouldn’t be the woman that I am today if it wasn’t for all of these experiences.

If I could write my mum a card this year, I would share what strong and passionate women my sister and I have become.

I would thank her and my dad for passing on those traits, along with a healthy dose of stubbornness (you can’t have it all). I would tell her all about my energetic, hilarious, wee niece, who my sister will be taking to school in August. The very same school that my mum proudly took my sister to on her first day. Well, she took her on the wrong day, and in the wrong uniform, but she got there, eventually. These nuances make us who we are, after all.

I would tell my mum I can finally look back and smile and laugh at these memories and stories, and thank her for creating this strength in me. So to anyone else who’s also having a motherless Mother’s Day, celebrate what your mother gave you.

Celebrate the other incredible women and mothers in your life.

Celebrate the strength you have that you can give to others.

Celebrate yourself. You deserve it.
This piece was originally published on Metro.co.uk on 26 March 2017.