Five high-profile women tell us about times they most relied on their mums for help
Liz Nugent: 'She felt my book was far superior to other books she was reading. I’d say the publishing industry was quaking in its boots.' Picture: Darragh Kane
“She felt my book was far superior to other books she was reading. I’d say the publishing industry was quaking in its boots. It only took three or four months before the deal came through.
“I was coincidentally in her back garden when I got the news. A bottle of wine was opened. If she could have chartered a plane with a flying banner to broadcast the news, she’d have done so. The booksellers of Dublin were finally able to sleep again.
“Sadly, now, aged 93, she has lost sight in one eye. Reading has become difficult, and she can only scan the newspaper headlines. And now that the sixth book is about to be born, the novelty has worn off. She might listen to me on the radio.
, by Liz Nugent.
“When you’re younger, you don’t understand the magnitude and weight of your mother’s support. You see it as a given; it’s always been there. As I get older, I realise just how much she sacrificed her hopes, dreams, and passions so I could have mine.
“My earliest memory of it… growing up, dancing was my world. When we moved from Dublin to Donegal, I started school. I was five, and I really wanted to be a dancer. My mom, Siobhan, found local ballet lessons and drove me to dance lessons in Buncrana or Derry two or three times a week for the guts of 15 years.
“The emotional support she gave me at 16, a pivotal time. We’d moved from Donegal to Dundalk: I felt my life had been uprooted, I’d been taken away from friends, the school I loved, everything familiar.
“I struggled at the start to make friends, to immerse myself in my new environment. I’d be on my own a lot at weekends, and my mum was just there. She’d take me for lunch, we’d watch a movie together, and we started going to the cinema — we both love a good horror movie. So, although I was struggling with fitting in and embracing my new environment, she was there to be my friend.
“Years later, that cinema memory sticks out: It was something that was ours; my brothers and dad weren’t there.
“I’ve understood her more as I’ve grown older. And we’ve become great friends.”
“My 10-year-old twins teach me every day that I’m a student of motherhood. I’m always learning, making mistakes, growing; facing the reality that ‘perfect mothering’ doesn’t exist.
“In my 47 years, the relationship between my mum, Edwina, and me has been strained, but we’ve always found a way back. And I choose to focus on all the times she’s been there for me.
“One of those times was when I gave birth in July 2015. She was in the hospital with my husband, waiting for me to come back from my C-section, waiting to hold the twins. It had been a long road to get them here, many years of fertility struggles: These babies were little miracles.
“They were perfect, but I suffered severe postpartum haemorrhage and came close to dying. I remember being rushed to theatre — it was fast and frightening. My husband was pushed out and I was prepared for emergency surgery.
“My mum was there. As they wheeled me to surgery, I held her hand, knowing something was seriously wrong. I asked her if everything would be OK. She looked in my eyes and said I would be fine. In that moment, I felt her love so strongly.
“I know now she was frightened. She knew how serious it was, but, as a mother does, hid it from me so I’d be comforted. She did everything she could to get me the best of care, and was there for my babies and husband when I was in theatre and recovering.
“She comforted me when I was most afraid; she hid her fear and fought for me. Anything we’d gone through before didn’t matter then. This was a mother loving her child.”
“I can’t choose just one moment my mom, Eileen, had my back. She’s always going above and beyond for my children and me.
“Practical examples over the years… I was at Irish college in Kerry. I didn’t bring a coat. Thought I’d be OK in July. I mentioned on a call to Mom that I was a bit chilly in the evenings walking home. The next morning, she appeared from Cork with a selection of coats to keep me warm.
“When I was a junior doctor, the kettle in the doctors’ room broke. I mentioned it to Mom, thought nothing of it. She arrived that afternoon with a kettle for us — all the doctors were thrilled.
“One time, sick in hospital, I vomited on my t-shirt. I had to take it off, but in the hectic emergency department I couldn’t find anyone to ask for a hospital gown. Without blinking an eye, Mom pulled the curtain, took her t-shirt and jumper off, gave me her t-shirt, and put her jumper back on. Literally gave me the shirt off her back.
“I recently studied for a diploma in dermatology. Tutorials were at 7am Fridays. Mom would be over early to mind the boys, while I attended the classes. She’s one of a kind, and I’m so grateful to have her as my mom.”
“In the hazy weeks after having my daughter, the health visitor took my temperature during a routine check. It was high. I was straight off the back of a C-section, so she sent me to the hospital.
“I left my daughter with my husband, and my mother met me at the emergency department. After triage, it seemed my fever had been a very high false read. As a precaution, they ran bloods. My mother waited with me for almost five hours in the tiny, strange intensity of the emergency room.
“During the pre-discharge examination, a doctor asked if I was breastfeeding. I hadn’t been able. My daughter was early: No amount of pumping or expressing could yield a single drop of what I was constantly assured was the only thing my baby needed.
“I hadn’t yet made peace with my inability to produce breast milk. I found myself tearful, apologising to the doctor for this. I felt there had been a lot of judgement and pressure, both medically and socially, to attempt something that was rapidly proving impossible.
“The doctor looked at me, calmly, and kindly said, ‘That’s fine, there’s nothing wrong with you; lots of women don’t do it’. It was almost the only time in a medical capacity I was reassured of this, as, day after day, I was confronted, often quite painfully, by what my body couldn’t do. I felt something finally start to lift then.
“Walking out to the car after being discharged, I told my mother what the doctor had said. She stopped, held me very tightly, very suddenly, in the streetlamp glow outside the Rotunda. She reminded me she’d been the exact same — she had tried as I had.
“I hadn’t been breastfed and there was nothing wrong with me, not with either of us. Of course there wasn’t. ‘Look at you,’ she said. ‘Look at you,’ I said.”
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