I received a poignant gift. What my friend said next pierced my heart

It was several years ago, but I recall it vividly.

It was Mother’s Day. A friend arrived at my home, handing me a little gift – a badge on which was printed: “World’s Best Mum.” Thanking him profusely, expressing how much this small gesture meant, he proceeded to cut me down immediately with the words, “Well, I know you’re not really a mother but…”

I missed the rest because it was as though he’d just pierced my heart. That may sound melodramatic, I know, but that’s the impact it had.

As a mother without a child, acknowledgement means so much, as any mother who’s lost her only child will know.

Labels to the contrary, can hurt deeply – to be called “childless”, the most. I remind myself that I’m not childless, in fact, I’m a mother of three. But, my first two babies died in utero, despite their initial strong heartbeats. And my perfect third baby, a beautiful son born prematurely, died in my arms at six days in an intensive care nursery.

I wonder at these times of being branded “childless” whether I’d find it more or less painful, had I never been able to conceive, had I never experienced the bliss of carrying a baby in my womb. I think then of the women out there whose reality is just that, despite having strived for years to make it otherwise. I ache for them.

This is one of the times of the year that those thoughts and feelings are accentuated, not that it needs to be any particular time. Easter falls late on the calendar this year, so the space between the disappearance of Easter Eggs and gifts and the onslaught of Mother’s Day will be shorter than usual.

No sooner will the Easter cards be removed from the shelves than Mother’s Day cards will appear. Magazine covers will display the idyllic, softly lit images of glowing mothers nursing their babies, other children playing nearby – while the inside pages will be laden with gift ideas and restaurant suggestions for the perfect lunch to treat mum.

The second Sunday in May that year, when my friend followed up his poignant gift unthinkingly with those piercing words, would by now be erased from his memory. I know this because he didn’t quite get it in the first place. Some simply don’t.

So, as the world feels like it’s turning pink with the approach of May 11, I’m sparing a thought for those women who long for the motherhood that never came, for those whose own mothers died much too soon, for those who have lost a child of any age. And my hope is that amid the celebration of those for whom Mother’s Day is a joyful experience, they too spare a thought for those who find this day bittersweet, or even excruciating.

Janine Joseph is a Melbourne writer