Is it Mother’s Day, Mothering Sunday or Child’s Day today?


I’m reading all the Mothering Sunday posts and reflecting:
I don’t have a mum any more.
And I’m not a mother myself.
So, regardless of why, that’s just how it is today…

For every mother and every child there’s a single story.
And it’s different for each and everyone of us.
Made out of genetics, chance and a million interactions.
Starting in the womb, then pushing out and pushing a way through life.

And I’ve heard it said that we choose our parents.
That’s both coldly crazy and softly sane in different measures.
I know I have chosen what I take from and learn from mine.
That’s some bitterness turned in to much sweet reason.

I’ve chosen the love and the laughter.
The generosity, the surprise gifts and all the toast.
The recognition of a tough job with the tough and easy love.
And today, what ever our story is, to celebrate my mother.

And there are no birth babies for me, but I’ve created so much.
I’ve played with god children and cooed over little ones.
I’ve hugged, hid, tickled, spoilt and giggled many times over.
I’ve witnessed the joy of new generations and played my part in their lives.

So Happy Mother’s day, what ever your denomination.
Whether in flesh or memory – seen or invisibly felt.
Regardless of our parenthood, there wouldn’t be a mother without – us.
So celebrate and be a cause for celebration:

And most of all – have a Happy Child’s Day – what ever that means – for you.

Mum Hol 2
My mother and this child

~ Sandra Peachey – Child and Creator

PS: It’s Mothering Sunday too – not instead of… 😉

PPS: I currently have a Child’s Day special offer… You can buy the paperback of my ‘Love Letters to Life’ on Amazon for £11.99 or as a Valentine’s treat you can get an author signed copy on my website – for just £7.99 including P&P…

Featured in Psychologies Magazine and The Lady, it was also honoured as a Finalist in the 2015 International Book Awards.  

Making a perfect Mother’s Day (or any other day) gift, the book takes the best posts from this blog, adds new content and wraps it all together in a satisfying structure – that will make you feel the love, entertain and enlighten you.

It’s an easy yet satisfying read, which sees love in everything we do in life – from the big themes to the tiny, trivial minutiae of it too.

If you want to get in touch, you can contact me by clicking here…

I’m also variously known as:
* The Director of LifeWork Consultancy & Coaching;
* The Author of Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life and Co-Author of The F-Factor.
* A 2015 International Book Awards Finalist, in the Women’s Issues Category;
* The Winner of a Women Inspiring Women Award in 2013;
* As being shortlisted for Women’s Coach in the APCTC Awards 2014, also nominated in 2012 & 2013; and
* Being nominated for a Networking Mummies National Recognition Award in 2015.


The Parkinsons Path – Part 1

Mum wearing a tea cosy… And why not?!

This week – 7 to 13 April 2014, is Parkinson’s Awareness Week. My mother lived with this neurological condition for the last 15 years of her life and so many people I know are still affected by this either directly or through some one they love…

My mother was who she was… and then like of all of us she grew older… So she tripped and stumbled sometimes. I remember once she fell in the path of a man in a theatre, as we were all rushing to the interval up the central aisle… There was a sarcastic comment, which fortunately she didn’t hear, and I couldn’t be bothered to shame that person’s ignorant and judgemental utterance… Let’s face it, I have judged so much on face value too, especially where my mother is concerned…

But then we don’t know people’s back stories as a rule, do we? That man misjudged a trip for bad manners, and was annoyed because someone was in his way… He wouldn’t be the first or the last to make a momentary misjudgement, after all he had a whole life time of his own experiences that took him to that place – verbally, logically and physically…

And I too have a lifetime’s experience of judging my mother, so what can I really say? For example, I just thought that the dribbling spools of saliva that dropped from her mouth at meal times were part of a character set of behaviour, a lack of self awareness and control…

And yet as I grew to learn more about the condition known as Parkinsons, ultimately I learned more about myself and my own perceptions too… The excess production of saliva it turns out, is just one of the myriad of symptoms of this condition…

When my mother was diagnosed, she liked the fact that she had a label. As she had developed a tremor in her hand, we weren’t entirely surprised. For me that was a subconscious fact and for my brother, something he had already consciously spotted and considered. Her symptoms were mild then, yet my brother and I knew that she faced certain degeneration. This was something from which there would be no turning back. She was in her 70s… something will get us all in the end…

So we started on the medical treadmill… She had a week or so in hospital being tested. At the beginning she was in good spirits and enjoying the attention and drama. I didn’t see any fear or concern. And I always liked how she lived through the whole Parkinson’s experience, in that it was her ‘thing’ and not a case for constant self pity. Odd, because I judged that she ‘did’ self pity and victimhood a lot in her life, but not for this this real and causal happening…

Life continued with regular trips to the consultant – weighing, walking and pushing. Then talking, and then the tinkering… Tinkering with the drugs – changing the combinations, increasing / decreasing the doses, and this every single time we went. The drugs have to be taken frequently and regularly. They must be administered on time – there is a regime to follow. My mother found it difficult to get her increasingly muddled head around it all.

My brother and I became adept at taking the consultant’s spidery hand written instructions and turning them into a timetable (for the kitchen wall, her handbag and my handbag), which we would then explain, first to my mother and then later to her carers.

My mother joined the local branch of the Parkinson’s Society and I researched the condition, bought books and researched online about it. I remember being mildly surprised when a friend said that I was going a ‘good thing’ educating myself about it… I had always felt that I just never did enough…

So time moved on and mother’s condition deteriorated… We would talk about it and some how my brother and I took the same tack with her – we could see self pity starting to creep in for her and would show sympathy and talk about it and yet also acknowledge pragmatically and without brow beating, that this was how it was. I would then smile and say that regardless we should absolutely make the most of the time we had together.

Over the years mum had bemoaned the fact that she never got enough time and attention from me, and I in turn had rebuffed that in various ways. I would never kow tow to deliberately implied guilt and so, I simply spent the time I spent with her. I had explained to her over the years that I had my own life too. I had a busy career and a restless nature. Over time the complaints never completely went away, but they certainly lessened. When my mother compared her life with other people, she realised that there was more colour and activity in it, than for so many other people of her age and in her situation.

We would go out for meals, to the theatre, to the cinema and on short holidays. On her 70th birthday I treated to her to her first spa day and what an investment… every single year after that she treated me to the very same thing; whether she was well enough to come with me or not. She loved the self care and specialness of the whole experience…

And sometimes when we discussed having to slow down, I would smile fondly and say, ‘when you’re in a wheel chair it’s not gonna stop because I shall simply drag you around every where instead’! And she would chuckle in delight…

Then the pain started to noticeably increase, especially in her legs. The tremor spread from her arm, all down one side, from shoulder to toe. She was living in sheltered accommodation at the time and after a while couldn’t remember to take all the drugs on time. This is crucial to managing Parkinsons – drugs must be taken in a regular and timely way. So it was a wrench, but she left the home and social circle she loved, and faced the upheaval of moving again – this time to a place where there was more ‘care’ on hand – both to physically take care of her and to ensure that she got her drugs on time.

She had a posh new apartment and my brother and I settled her in and made it a home. It was pristine and shiny and she was very proud of it, but it soon became apparent that she wasn’t getting the level of care that she needed. The staff were not administering the drugs on time and often forgot altogether. We talked to the employees and we talked to the management. It didn’t change. We explained that it is absolutely vital that the drugs are administered in a timely fashion. Still she was ignored. We brought in her Social Worker – who talked to the management on at least 3 occasions, with us present. Still no change…

It was just hideously endemic – the people employed either were not educated enough about the situation, not paid enough to give a damn or else too busy to prioritise an urgent medical need. It is also a 24 hour / 7 day a week situation and so where one member of staff would be aware, the person on the next shift couldn’t or wouldn’t give a damn and didn’t follow the regimen pinned to the manager’s wall. I was horrified and angry, and alternatively discussed, educated and berated them, all to no avail.

Finally I got more support in my own life as I met an amazing man and got engaged. In fact we were moving house the day I got the call from my mother’s home. I was in a white van with my man and much of my worldly possessions at the time; and I couldn’t help feeling she’d done it on purpose… It was probably a stroke, the woman on the phone said.  My mother had had an episode and they had called an ambulance…

And so began the next and darker phase of the Parkinson’s path, for my mother and for all of us…

My book Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life is dedicated to my mother who lived with Parkinsons.  There are more letters about her, along with more ‘Love Letters’ to the people, phenomena and happenings in my life as an author and coach. You can get hold of your copy here…  or else from Amazon (in both Kindle and Paperback formats) and it can be bought or ordered from ‘all good book shops’…