The One Mum We Get
- Michelle Ellison
- Sep 15
- 3 min read
“We only get one mum ~ and our children only get one us"
When I lost my mum, I was still deep in the everyday rhythms of raising my own children, school runs, packed lunches, bedtime stories. Ordinary days that seemed to stretch endlessly and disappear in a blink.
And then she was gone.
Her absence made something crystal clear: We only get one mum. One voice, one presence, one relationship that no one else can replicate.
Now, some years later, I feel another truth just as strongly: my children only get one mum too, and that mum is me.
The Questions That Stay With You.
Grief left me with questions that still echo.
What else would I have asked if I’d known our time was short?
What stories did she never get to tell?
What ordinary moments did I rush past because I thought we had years ahead of us?
Have you ever wondered the same, about your mum, or about someone you love?What conversation would you start today if you knew tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed?
Choosing My Children, Every Day.
Losing my mum shifted something in me.
I began to choose my children more intentionally. Not just loving them in the background of a busy life, but actively seeing them, hearing them, and showing up for the small, unremarkable moments.
Because just as I only had one mum, they only have one me.
Each morning I ask myself:
Am I truly present right now?
Am I noticing the way their eyes light up when they tell a story?
Am I listening, or just waiting for my turn to speak?
These aren’t questions of guilt. They’re invitations, to live awake, to leave fewer regrets.
Living Without Regret.
There’s a particular ache in realising you can’t go back.
The conversations I imagined having with my mum, the ones where we’d finally sit as two grown women and talk about life, love, motherhood, will never happen.
That loss fuels my determination to create different endings with my own children.
I want them to remember a mother who looked them in the eye, who laughed with them, who sat in the silence and let them be. I want them to carry memories, not regrets.
What would it mean for you to live this way with the people you love? What might you do differently today if you decided that every small moment counts?
The Beauty and the Mess.
Family life is messy.
There are arguments over shoes, dinners cooked and rejected, days when patience runs thin.
But within that mess lies something sacred: hearts are formed in the daily encounters.
As I grow my children, they grow me. They teach me to soften, to heal old wounds, to forgive myself. It’s not easy, but it’s beautiful.
When I pause to really see them, whether they’re laughing at the kitchen table or rolling their eyes at me, I remember: these ordinary days are shaping us all. Every ordinary day is a memory waiting to happen.
An Invitation to You.
If you’re reading this, maybe you’re carrying your own quiet grief. Maybe you’re blessed with time to make new memories.
Because we only get one mum. And our children only get one us.
What would it look like to spend today as if it were a gift, not a guarantee?
What’s one small moment you want to savour with your child today?
I’d love to hear in the comments below.
With love and warmth
Michelle :)
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