The church, in those days, wasn’t interested in supporting a widow and her four children.

The oldest (my mother) was only 12 years old when their father died, suddenly and unexpectedly, at 40 years of age. 

The church did not help this minister’s widow and children, other than by a very small stipend.

So, Nana and her children survived by cleaning an Anglican private school. What an irony!

We adored our Irish Nana, and during the war years she ran the household when my mother returned to office work, as so many women did in those days.

How difficult was it for my mother to return to “home duties” when my father returned from the war?

So many women resentfully left their paid employment.

My mother was one of those who had garnered great satisfaction in being a very competent secretary.  

She wasn’t at home for long, however, because my dad died young, and back to work she had to go.

During those war years and afterwards, it was our two adored grandmothers who looked after my brothers and me.

They were our extended family and they loved us unconditionally.

I celebrate Mother’s Day by remembering all three of those mothers in my life. They were strong women.

My mother being widowed too young at 43 years of age meant I was surrounded by women.

And the life lessons they taught me about resilience and courage have stayed with me all my life.

I hope that I’ve instilled that resilience in my daughters and granddaughters.

My son wrote to me recently and asked me to write about my mother.

He had never known her, as he was born two months after she had died.

It was a beautiful request and I found myself imagining writing a single page of memories. Three pages later, and any number more could I have written.

My mother was there, at my shoulder, egging me on, reminding me of funny things we did as kids, the laughter in our household with our Irish Nana regaling us continuously with Irish superstitions and beliefs.

The fairies were part of her life, and so they were part of mine. Tears came easily as I wrote my mother’s story.

There are those who don’t wish to put aside a special day for celebrating the mothers of this world. Not me.

We’re all so busy these days that we often forget to stop and savour a moment, a memory, enjoy a minute to recall instances of earlier times in our lives. 

But at least on that one day in the year, Mother’s Day, I take time to stop and think about the impact those remarkable women have made on my life, and my appreciation of the genes that I’ve inherited.

The line of strong women continues. Indeed, my granddaughters all carry the hallmarks of those strong women who have gone before them.

I like to think those fabulous women who have left us long ago are still somewhere close by, cheering us on. Mothers everywhere, enjoy your special day. 

ANNIE YOUNG