And as the years grow since I had a mum who was here – alive – and with the busy whirlwind of time, I find myself thinking more and more of mum’s absence in my life, and what that means.

As I settle into my twenties, my career, my friendships, and as I continue to grow into the happy, fulfilled, ambitious and – I hope – kind person my mum always knew I would become, as she herself was, I feel the raw cruelty that she is not here to enjoy it sits with me, inside me, everyday.

Perhaps it’s because I’m aware of the ticktock of time moving me closer to a so-desired, so-hoped for motherhood myself, or maybe it’s because I feel myself so keenly comparing my own lifeline to my mum’s – forever aware of the whispering shadow of her short 45 years.

But, despite the annual Mothering-Sunday-Fear, there is also a poignant allure about the day I can’t ignore. It’s a day where I can indulge myself in memories of Mum – take time to quietly ponder who she was, and who I am now, without her. I can’t resent Mother’s Day simply because mine isn’t here for me to give flowers and a frantically scribbled ‘I love you’ card to. Because, actually, she knew I loved her, although I definitely didn’t tell her enough. So, that’s why I’m instead going to make this Sunday a celebration of all the empowering, caring, inspirational female role models that I’m lucky enough to have in my life now."

With thanks to Anne, Nicky and all the 'Other Mothers' in my life - your love and support means more to me than you will ever know.

Follow Emma on Twitter @hungry_romantic and on her website Hungryromantic.co.uk

“She knew I loved her, although I didn’t tell her enough”: what Mother's Day is like without a mum