How do you feel about Mother’s Day?

ASPARAGUS!

I hate it. Like, deeply, passionately, no-coming-back-from-it hate it. It is disgusting. I cannot believe people willingly eat it, let alone enjoy it. The taste? Absolutely foul. There aren’t enough words in the English language to fully capture just how much I cannot stand it.

Look, I’m not a picky eater. I’ll give most things a go. Sure, there are foods I wouldn’t exactly choose (Brussels sprouts, I’m looking at you), but I can eat them if I have to. But ASPARAGUS? No chance. It is, without question, the villain of the vegetable world.

Back when I was a church minister, I even tried to turn it into a joke. I’d claim that when Adam and Eve sinned, God didn’t curse the ground with thorns—no, the Hebrew actually translates to “green spikes coming out of the ground”… asparagus.

Yeah… that joke didn’t land. At all. Turns out bombing in front of a congregation is a special kind of humbling.

And people never let it go. The moment they find out I don’t like asparagus, they act like it’s a personal challenge.

“Oh, you’ve probably only had the canned stuff.”
Nope.

“Have you tried it fresh, lightly fried in butter?”
Yes. Still disgusting.

“What about grilled with butter and garlic?”
Yes. Yes. And yes again. Still awful.

Every single time I try it, it’s like my taste buds stage a full-scale protest. They grab their little shovels, dig in, and shout, “Absolutely not. This is not entering the mouth.”

But then—breakthrough moment—I discovered that some people are actually allergic to asparagus.

Perfect. Done. That’s me now.

I am, from this day forward, someone who is gravely allergic to asparagus. People don’t argue with allergies. It’s a beautiful thing.

(Although honestly, just writing about it is making me feel slightly nauseous.)

(Yes, this is about Mother’s Day, really)

Sunday 10 May 2026 is Mother’s Day here in New Zealand, and for me, it’s actually a really easy thing to celebrate.

My mum is 85 and, for her age, doing incredibly well. She’s practical, kind, patient, and genuinely wants the best for people. I’ve never doubted her love for me—not once (Even if she tried to make me eat ASPARAGUS! once). Even at my worst, she’s been steady, committed, and there. It feels completely natural to celebrate someone who has shown up like that for so long.

I’m also lucky to have an amazing mother-in-law. I genuinely feel adored by her, and I think she’s pretty proud to have me as a son-in-law (which I’m choosing to believe wholeheartedly). She cares deeply, but never oversteps. It’s easy—actually, it’s a pleasure—to celebrate her too.

And then there’s my wife, the mother of our kids (who, somehow, are now both in their 20s). She’s incredible (Although she is one of those who loves to suggest ways ASPARAGUS! Might be enjoyable). She is patient in ways I’m not. Always willing to listen, help untangle problems, and support our kids to live better, fuller lives. She shows up for them again and again, and honestly, she deserves to be celebrated far more than just one day a year.

But here’s the thing.

Working as a funeral director, I’m constantly reminded that Mother’s Day isn’t a joyful day for everyone.

For some, it’s not a celebration—it’s grief.

There are people who had mothers who were absent, controlling, or abusive. There are those who desperately wanted to become mothers but couldn’t. There are people whose mums have died, and the loss still sits heavy. Or those who have experienced the death of their own child. For them, days like this don’t feel warm or celebratory—they highlight what’s missing.

I’ve seen how grief shows up on days that are “supposed” to be happy. I have a friend who lost two family members in a car accident, and those big milestone moments—21sts, weddings—were never just celebrations. They were also reminders. There were always tears mixed in.

Mother’s Day can be like that.

And the hard part? It’s not always easy to say, “Hey, this day is actually really difficult for me.” There’s a quiet pressure to go along with what everyone else is doing, to smile, to celebrate, to fit the script, to make sure you don’t spoil other people’s good time.

And some people would rather just keep their heads down and get through the day quietly, without having to explain themselves. And honestly, they shouldn’t have to.

I’ve felt the social pressure to like asparagus—and that’s trivial. When it comes to grief, it’s a completely different story.

At Wellington City Funerals, we want to acknowledge both realities.

For some, Mother’s Day is a beautiful day—full of gratitude, love and celebration for truly extraordinary women.

For others, it’s heavy. Complicated. Painful.

And if you’re in that second group, we hope you don’t feel the need to justify your feelings. You’re allowed to experience the day exactly as it is for you—no explanations required.

That’s what I’ve learnt from ASPARAGUS!