It was quite some time back, but I remember it clearly.
It was Mother’s Day when a friend came over to my place carrying a tiny present—a badge inscribed with “World’s Best Mum.” After thanking them enthusiastically for their thoughtful act, they promptly undercut my joy by saying, “I know you’re technically not a mum yet, but…”
I didn’t catch the remainder since it felt like he had stabbed right through my heart. I realize this might come off as overly dramatic, but that’s truly how powerful the effect was.
As a parent with an empty nest, recognition holds great significance; this resonates deeply for those mothers who have tragically lost their sole offspring.
Despite what labels might suggest, they can still cause deep pain—being referred to as “childless” hurts the most. I often remind myself that I am not childless; in reality, I’m a mother of three. However, my first two pregnancies ended tragically with the loss of our babies who had strong heartbeats initially but couldn’t survive. My perfectly formed third child—a wonderful little boy delivered too soon—also passed away after just six days in the neonatal intensive care unit.
During moments when people label me as “childless,” I often ponder whether it would be more or less hurtful if I had never been capable of conceiving, never felt the joy of carrying a child within me. My thoughts turn to those women who face this harsh truth after many years of trying to change their fate. Their pain resonates deeply with me.
This is one of the periods when such thoughts and emotions become more pronounced, though they aren’t confined to specific moments. Given that Easter comes relatively late on the calendar this year, the gap between hiding Easter eggs and receiving presents and the rush up to Mother’s Day will likely be narrower than normal.
As soon as the Easter cards disappear from the store racks, Mother’s Day cards will take their place. The magazine covers will showcase idealized scenes of radiant mothers gently cradling their infants, with other kids frolicking closeby — all under soft lighting. Meanwhile, the interior sections will overflow with presents and proposals for an exquisite meal at a nice restaurant to pamper mom.
That particular second Sunday in May, when my friend inadvertently followed up his touching gesture with those sharp comments, has likely faded from his recollection. This is evident as he never truly grasped it initially. Some people just don’t.
As May 11 approaches and the world seems to take on a rosy hue, I’m reflecting on the women who yearn for the motherhood that eluded them, those whose mothers passed away far too early, and those who have mourned the loss of a child at any stage. My wish is that during the celebrations for those for whom Mother’s Day brings joy, people also consider those who might find this day tinged with sorrow or unbearable pain.
Janine Joseph is an author from Melbourne.
