Mothering Sunday (and some griefs observed)

In the English speaking Commonwealth Countries 11th  March 2018 has been Mothering Sunday.  It's a quasi-religious celebration which is observed on the Fourth Sunday in Lent, this its date varies from year to year.   

It is not the same as the fixed date American Mother's Day - although thanks to the baleful influence of American cultural imperialism it is now widely known as Mother's Day in Commonwealth Countries  (Boo!).

There are various theories as to the etiology of Mother Sunday.  I suspect that some of them are a bit bogus. 

(Did people truly go to their Mother Church on this day  -  and if so why?).  

(Did servant girls get this Sunday off to visit their mothers - and if so why not servant boys?)

Perhaps it has a connection to a passage from the fourth chapter of Paul's letter to the Galatians which in the olden days was always read in Anglican Churches on Lent IV -  it contains this somewhat odd reference to the heavenly city as  "Jerusalem which is above is free, which is the mother of us all".

My Face book page has been filled today with wonderful greetings from my nieces and nephews to my sisters and sisters-in-law (and now that I am getting on in years from my great nephews/nieces to their Mums.  'Tis sweet.

I've had some sombre family thoughts today.

I think of my maternal grandmother Kate Ames Finch whose daughter also called Kate (she was my mother's sister) who died from what was then called lockjaw, (maybe in the 1920's).

I think of my mother Evelyn who gave birth to my sister Sylvia 
(1941/42) whose very brief life ended as a result of Spina Bifida.

I think of my sister Ruth whose son Jack died of sudden crib/cot death when he was three months old.

I think of my sister in law Wendy whose precious child Thomas died very soon after birth (I had the enormous privilege of baptising him in the neonatal intensive care unit of St. Michael's Hospital, Bristol -  I happened to arrive in England the day he was born)

I think of my aunt Phyll whose daughter Rosemary died in her early twenties.

I think of my aunt Irene whose first born son Alan died when he was in his fifties.

And I think of those precious babies who died in the wombs of my sisters, sisters-in-law and nieces. (I hate the word mis-carriage).

So my thoughts today have been of grandmother Kate, mother Evelyn, sister Ruth, sister-in Law Wendy, Aunts Phyll and  Irene (and the others) whose children died before or after birth.

I know that their grief  was, or has been never utterly assuaged.

(The husbands and fathers also grieved deeply, but since this is Mothering Sunday I have been thinking of the mothers in my family.)