Remembering a Proper Lady

A Mother’s Day reflection on grief, memory, and the enduring love of a mother

For some, Mother’s Day is a vibrant celebration of presence; for others, it is a quieter day of memory, longing, and a little emptiness. Whether you are celebrating with your mom, grieving her absence, or standing in the gap for someone else, today is a reflection on the universal thread that connects us all: the enduring, complicated, and life-changing power of a mother’s love.

After my mom passed, I often dreamt of her still being seriously ill and battling cancer. Then, after about six months, the dreams changed. I dreamt of her laughing, happy and content. To me, that was the message that I was starting to heal emotionally. Now, I still dream of her nearly every night, in a good way.

It has been over two decades since I last heard my mom’s voice. Twenty-four years is long enough to have built a life without her, but short enough to still remember the exact shade of her favourite lipstick or the way she would sigh at the end of a long day. For those of us in the ‘long-term loss’ club, the day is not about fresh grief; it is about the persistent ache of missing the woman you would love to have a coffee with as an adult.

As someone who is not a biological mother, I have often felt like a spectator on this day - standing just outside a room I was never invited into. But I have come to realise that the ‘mothering’ energy we miss from our own moms is something we can still participate in. It is in the way we show up for our friends, the way we care for our pets, or the way we mentor younger versions of ourselves. We may not have the title, but we carry the legacy of the care we once received.

If you find yourself in that bittersweet middle-ground today - missing a mother and navigating a world that equates womanhood with motherhood - know that your feelings are valid. You do not have to ‘celebrate’ in the traditional sense. Sometimes, the worthiest thing you can do is simply be kind to yourself, acknowledge the woman who shaped you, and recognise the ways you continue to nurture the world around you.

Yellow roses were always my mom’s favourite flowers. Even now, I cannot see them without thinking of her. My mom was a ‘proper lady’ in the truest sense; she was rarely seen in anything other than a skirt or dress, carrying herself with a grace that felt both elegant and effortless. Yet, beneath that polished exterior was a woman of immense grit and even greater heart. She taught us the values that mattered most: that every person, from the schoolteacher to the cleaner, deserved the exact same level of respect. She was an academic at heart, an avid reader who could disappear into a non-fiction book just as easily as a big sweeping novel - a passion for the written word that she passed down to all of us.

Some of my fondest memories are the smallest ones: the quiet ritual of her morning rooibos tea and a biscuit, or her unapologetic sweet tooth (a Bar One was always her prize). On our birthdays, she made us feel like the centre of the universe. We each got to choose our own cake, and for me, it was always her white batter cake with that tart, sweet granadilla icing. She would wrap presents with such meticulous care, making a fuss of us until we felt truly special.

She had a humorous side too. Her explosive sneeze would reliably send us all leaping out of our skins, followed immediately by her infectious laughter at the fright she had caused. She was the engine of our home, waking five of us every morning with a cup of coffee before tackling a literal mountain of school sandwiches. She sacrificed so much to get us out of the door on time, yet she maintained a humorous, no-nonsense streak. My brother still laughs about the morning he spotted a spider by his bed and called for her help, only for this elegant, proper lady to pause, look him in the eye, and simply say, ‘Kill it,’ before turning and leaving the room. It is that mix of grace, hard work, and dry wit that I miss the most today.

So, however you are approaching this day - with a phone call, a visit to a quiet graveside, or simply by being the best version of yourself - know that the love you give and receive is never lost. It is woven into the fabric of who we are. This Sunday, let us celebrate love in all its forms: the present and the remembered.

💌 Before You Go

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Sometimes it is the smallest memories that stay with us the longest. If you would like to share one of yours, I would love to read it.

— Frannie ☕