In awe of ár mná: Five familiar faces reflect on their mother's influence
Miriam O'Callaghan and her mother
Motherhood: All love begins and ends there.
So wrote Robert Browning — and for many of our writers, how very true those words still ring.
Ahead of Mother’s Day, we asked columnists and other well-known faces to reflect on the profound role their mothers have played in shaping their lives.
TV and radio presenter. Her memoir Miriam: Life, Work, Everything is available now
I always say that my mom is the real Miriam O’Callaghan. She has always been my extraordinary role model. She had five children, I was the second child. She was originally a teacher and then she became the principal of a large girls school near where we lived. So she always worked out of the home, as well as raising a large family of five children. I think that seeped into me as a young woman growing up, it never entered my head that I wouldn’t be able to do both.
She has an extraordinary work ethic. Even now at age 97, my mother will still be up in her kitchen when we’re all sitting around the kitchen table knocking back cups of tea, she’ll be sweeping up around us.
A story my mom will always tell about me is that when I was a teenager, when she would come home from school, she’d be quite tired, and I would always get up without being asked and make her a cup of tea. I think she gave me a nurturing parenting gene. When I became a mom in my mid 20s for the first time, I didn’t find it difficult, because I think I learned how to be a nurturing parent from my mother.
She makes me laugh. You know, I was with her the other day, and she still chastises me if I make the tea too weak, or if I put too much milk in the tea, or if I give her too much sugar.
But I think the lovely thing is, I’m great pals with my mother, and my mom is very close to all her children, and I’m very close to all my siblings. She instilled that in us. You know, my husband was only four when his mother died of cancer.
I see how having your mother in your life is so special, and I realise how lucky I am that I still have my mother in my life. I mean, it’s very, very unusual, and I’m hugely grateful.
I had two mothers, in a way. My biological mother Linda had terminal cancer and died when I was two and my sister was one. We went to live with my grandmother, Linda’s mother-in-law, and she reared us. We called her mam, because that was what she was to us.
Linda had arranged it all because she knew she was very sick. So she asked mam would she take us. She kind of passed on the baton of motherhood to her, I guess, and we’re just so fortunate that she did. We had a beautiful upbringing in a great, big, fun, busy house.
Mam already had eight kids herself, and then just when her youngest is seven, out of nappies, out of prams, suddenly she had to start all over again, minding a baby and a toddler. What an incredible woman. And we never felt that we were a burden or it was a hassle or that it was more work. We were just totally encompassed and brought into the family, you know, loved beyond doubt.
When I became a mother myself, when I was in the throes of late night feedings and worry and trying to figure everything out, I realised how terrified Linda must have been, first of all, that she was having to pass over her precious daughters, and also just how much change it would be in my grandmother’s household taking two extra little babies who had just lost their mother.
But mam was just formidable. She was very funny and great craic. You wouldn’t mess with her. My uncle used to be out smoking when he was a teenager. She’d be mad at him and all his friends about it. So she’d run upstairs with a bucket water and toss it over them. And she had an awful mouth; she grew up in a pub environment, and she’d be cursing, she had a real blue tongue — you wouldn’t know what she’d say. My friends just loved her.
You know, when I was a teenager, there was never any you can’t do this, or you can’t do that. She’d say “go on, enjoy yourself”. Probably because the eight in front of me had done everything possible that could be thought of, she’d seen it all. But then saying that, she would never go to sleep until all of us were back in the house safe.
I always say my mom is my icon. With all she’s been through in her life, she carried everything on her shoulders; she was the force in our family. No matter what type of shit was going on, she would take care of it and make sure everything was rosy.
She raised me and my sister as a single mother when my dad passed away when I was 16, and my sister was 14, and that was after we had to leave Armenia because of the war. But with everything she’s been through, she always has a smile on her face. She’s been through a lot — she had cancer twice — and it’s like nothing will dull her spark.
But even with all that, she’s also so funny, so witty, and she’s very quick. And she has always been a good listener. In Armenia, people were always coming and confiding in her. We laugh, because no matter who you are, you end up talking to my mother and telling her your secrets. I remember coming home from school and there would always be a couple of ladies just talking to my mom.
I am who I am today because of her. She always said to me that life is too short and if you don’t ask, you don’t get. She let me do so much in my life because she knew that, as a child, I had to learn from my own mistakes. When I was a dancer, I missed so many family events. I would apologise, but she would say: “don’t worry, you’re building your life. My priority is for you to be happy. We’ll catch up later.”
My mother was an extraordinary woman. At 36, she was a widow with nine children. When daddy died, I was 14 and I thought at the time that she knew exactly what to do. But you know, all of those years later, when I was 36 myself, I realised, you never really know what to do.
My father and my mother were very happy. It was one of those kind of marriages; I never remember a cross word between them. But then he was gone, and she just looked after us, even though she was most likely shell-shocked and grieving. We lived in Cullahill, a small village in Co Laois.
We went to the local school and my mother had arranged with the headmaster that we could run up home for lunch every day. And she would always have something like a stew ready for us, followed by what we called a sweet at the time. I didn’t realise at that stage, you know, how important that was as a foundation for us.
Not only was she a terrific cook, she could sew and mend, knit and crochet, embroider and do tapestry and garden, of course, and keep hens. But then when my father died she had to also gradually learn how to run the family business, and she just did it and made it a huge success.
It wasn’t until much later that I was able to really appreciate not only her character and her resilience and everything, but so many other things about her; she was always so supportive of us and she managed to keep the whole family together, which was quite the achievement in itself.
Speaking as a plural, mums play such an important part in children’s connections and attachments and are instrumental in how we go on to form good loving relationships. My mum is and always was an extroverted character that people would warm to.
We have a very close relationship to this day. We chat to each other every day, and enjoy spending time together. In my line of work, I see regularly that that is not always given, so I am grateful for that relationship with my mum.
That solid relationship goes back to my childhood when I would come home from school and I would see her there waiting for me with the fire on and the dinner ready. She created a real sense of home and stability for me. There was a safeness and security in her love.
And she was so full of fun (she still is!). As a kid, she’d take me out of school some days, even when school was on, and we would go to the beach or just have a day out. For her it was about taking that break from the routine of life. She has that irreverent sense of humour and a sense of fun, you know. And an absolute love of music. Mostly when I think of her, it’s of her singing, typically Beatles songs.
As you get older and become a parent yourself, you do think about the legacy of their parenting, and maybe that positive legacy that you want to bring forward into your own family. So now, I occasionally take my kids out of school myself and we have a day off together. I’m replicating some of those things that my mother did that meant a lot to me when we were kids.
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