Buttons are everywhere. They hold things together. Just simple, ordinary, everyday things. Underappreciated often, until they are lost. Love is a button.

When I was small, Mum and I used to watch Button Moon at lunch time when I came home from school. After ham sandwiches or a tin of Heinz soup (preferably tomato), we snuggled up together on the couch marvelling at the adventures of Mr and Mrs Spoon.

            ‘Mum, one day, can I fly a rocket all of the way to the moon?’
            ‘If you put your mind to it,’ she said, ‘why not?’ Pulling on her Marigolds and filling the sink with pine-scented bubbles, she told me stories of Rosa Parks and Valentina Tereshkova.

I haven’t indulged in space travel but I’ve had many adventures. Over the years I’ve known both great joy and great sorrow. Now, my smile lines don’t fade and my hair is turning silver.

In a few days’ time, the women will gather. We will sit in circle and share our wisdom on this month’s theme: love. When it is my turn to speak I will tell them, love is a button. I will explain, ‘Buttons are everywhere. They hold things together…’ I will tell them I hope that whenever they fasten a child’s coat, undo a lover’s jeans or pull on a work shirt, they stop and remember that love is a button.

Some women may smile easily. But the world can be harsh with our tender hearts. Some women may worry. What if, like love, our buttons get broken or lost, or replaced by zips or Velcro or hooks and eyes? I will say, overall, I’ve found life strives to be kind. I will share with them that in the months after my mother died grief forced me to my knees. I will speak of nights sobbing naked and broken on the bathroom floor. That in the darkest moment I heard Mum’s voice:

           ‘Tap, you’re done!’

Curled next to the bath, I remembered Mum insisted that all babies were baked in the same oven in heaven. The memory lifted me. I will tell them how I pushed myself up and leaned against the bathroom wall. I slid my hand over my belly and curled my fingertip in to touch my navel. Tear stained cheeks curved into a smile. I will share the moment that realisation dawned, that Mum had left her mark in me. I am still here. My life is her legacy.

I will tell them I saw the chord that bound me to my mother, to her mother and all the foremothers who have gone before. How I saw our family tree overlapping and interweaving with all other family trees, converging into a single bloodline, all the way back to Eve.

Buttons are everywhere. They hold things together. Just simple, ordinary, everyday things. Underappreciated often, until they are lost. Love is a button we all carry with us.