Mothers and Daughters

Today, its Mother's Day. This is the second Mother's Day, since Mum died, and I'm still finding it tough, the gap where my Mum used to be is still very noticeable, and I miss her.
This week in my garden the camellia has come into flower.

It is beautiful, and very poignant that it should have flowered this week, as this was my Mum's camellia, that I'm now watching for her. But it also has a story that makes me smile. It lives in a very heavy, brown pot, and when Mum moved from Manchester to Reading I couldn't lift it. Mum said leave it- I was determined to bring it as I knew how much she loved it. In the end I dug it out of the pot, and drove it down from Manchester in a scruffy yellow bucket. while the removal men took the pot. It caused much argument and subsequent laughter, and now it sits in the lovely pot she chose.

This weekend Ellie and I have had one of those weekends- a mother and daughter weekend where we both manage to get under the other's skin. The argument is about a model that has to be built for a school project. Saturday morning there are tears, arguments, but above all the theme of the conversation is me telling Ellie her way won't work, and Ellie trying to prove it will. The more I say it won't the more Ellie tries to prove it will. And I see the pattern again...of independence...of trying to prove your Mum wrong, and that you can do it, except this time I'm the one saying it won't work.
See that's the thing with Mother's and Daughters, before you know it the cycle is repeating itself, and where once you were determined to do something you now see the independent streak passed down.By the end of the weekend we had achieved this:

And all is happy with the world. When I was growing up Mum and I were never that close as I was too busy making my stand, proving that I was right (or thought I was). Only after Dad died did our relationship deepen. On Mother's Day I can reflect, and say Mum, I now understand.

Jane