My View: Celebrating an unbreakable bond

For the first time in my life I won't be buying a Mother's Day card for Sunday. For the first time in my life I haven't got a mother.

My mum, Rosemary, passed away in May and it seems like yesterday instead of nearly a year. So when I was trundling my trolley round the supermarket I found myself transfixed in the Mother's Day aisle and my loss hit me like a sledgehammer. But then I looked at all the cheerful cards, and I felt better. I could feel my hand reaching out for a very stylish one with a fashionable frock on the front and cool design. It would have been the one to choose for mine, ever young at 89. "Those flowery ones are for old codgers," she'd say.

Mothering Sunday has come a long way since young servant girls made Simnel Cakes to take to their mothers in places like Lark Rise and Candleford. These days the Simnel is an Easter treat and Mother's Day, the American term, is big business, accompanied by the trilling of cash tills. It's not just cards, but chocs and smellies and, of course, those all-important flowers that part us from our cash. As my mum lived in South Wales I could not always be with her on the big day, so flowers were sent winging at vast expense. Some people say it's all a waste of money. But, if you can't pay tribute to the woman who bore you, changed your nappies and looked after you through thick and thin, who can you send your love to? After all, a girl's best friend is her mum. In my case my dad died young and mum was alone for 42 years. We spoke on the phone every day, give or take, and so cards were important to us both.

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When I was clearing out my family home in Cardiff, I came across every feature I had ever written for national newspapers and magazines and a pile of greetings cards. There were birthdays and Easter and of course Mother's Day. I sat weeping and read them all. Behind their cardboard covers decorated with sunflowers – a family favourite – and hedgehogs, and other country companions, my life unfolded. "Thank you for putting up with me," I wrote one year and: "Thanks for always being there when I need you". They spanned my divorce, my depression and times when the Bank of Mum had dibbed out to help me. There was even a card I made for her when I was about four, with paper crocuses.

When my mother died, a friend, who also has no family, said that the bond between a childless woman and her mother is very deep. I know a psychiatrist would have a field day with that, but it's true. Instead of being a mother to your brood, you can be forever a child to your mum.

When I was born, the local cinema was running a contest to promote the film I Remember Mama, and seeking the most glamorous new mother. With her blonde starlet looks, the Veronica Lake of the ward, my mum won hands down.

So come Sunday as those breakfast trays with burnt toast and drooping flowers make their way to mums everywhere I'll get out the old cards. And like that old movie I'll remember Mama. She was my best friend and we had such fun together.

As Mark Twain put it: "My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it."

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