It’s surprising that it’s five years this week since Mum died. I’m always out by a year, I thought it was only four.
Inevitably it’s a time of year for remembrance and a little sadness. Although my mate Luce said it well a few weeks ago. She doesn’t see why Anniversaries should necessarily be a time of sadness, how much better to remember - and celebrate - the person’s life rather than their death. How true.
That’s what I like to do. I like to think of the good times and how many of them there were. At least, I like to try.
So, today, I had resolved to write a happy sort of blog post about Mum and how great a person she was in her own right, not just as a Mum but as a strong, smart, lovely human being.
Inevitably it’s a time of year for remembrance and a little sadness. Although my mate Luce said it well a few weeks ago. She doesn’t see why Anniversaries should necessarily be a time of sadness, how much better to remember - and celebrate - the person’s life rather than their death. How true.
That’s what I like to do. I like to think of the good times and how many of them there were. At least, I like to try.
So, today, I had resolved to write a happy sort of blog post about Mum and how great a person she was in her own right, not just as a Mum but as a strong, smart, lovely human being.
And here I am, having hit a bit of a brick wall with this.
You see, I know lots of stuff about Mum, lots of stories and adventures and great moments and fun… I could share some of those with you and that would be nice, I’m sure. But they’re not my stories of her – they are other people’s stories.
All my stories of her are as a Mum. My Mum.
Does that even make sense?
My Mum was funny and tough and strong. She was quite short and she had remarkably small feet. She was always singing around the house and she would never sing in public. She baked cakes and sent them off around the world at Christmas Time. She loved Bingo, never went to the pub, was religious. She made me feel safe and insulated and she always took my side when I needed her to.
These are all things – true things – but they’re not about Betty the Person, what she wanted, how she felt. They’re all about my perception of her as my Mother.
I seem to be able only to define her as that and nothing else.
Which is a bit sad.
Or is it?
Maybe that’s the way it’s meant to be, for me at least. My Mum was a great Mum and I’ll always remember her as that. Perhaps I was also more a Son to her than a person, I don’t know. I have no doubt that a relationship could have been forged, in later life, where we knew each other more as people than as close family. Unfortunately, I was gone from home by seventeen and Mum was not permitted to enjoy those later years where such a thing might have grown.
C’est La Vie, eh?
I can be regretful but I can be happy too. I guess I was never destined to know Mum as much more than Mum. I was damn lucky to have her as that.
So, (tips forehead to the skies) thinking of you Mum.
Thanks for everything, I appreciate it.
'You know?
You see, I know lots of stuff about Mum, lots of stories and adventures and great moments and fun… I could share some of those with you and that would be nice, I’m sure. But they’re not my stories of her – they are other people’s stories.
All my stories of her are as a Mum. My Mum.
Does that even make sense?
My Mum was funny and tough and strong. She was quite short and she had remarkably small feet. She was always singing around the house and she would never sing in public. She baked cakes and sent them off around the world at Christmas Time. She loved Bingo, never went to the pub, was religious. She made me feel safe and insulated and she always took my side when I needed her to.
These are all things – true things – but they’re not about Betty the Person, what she wanted, how she felt. They’re all about my perception of her as my Mother.
I seem to be able only to define her as that and nothing else.
Which is a bit sad.
Or is it?
Maybe that’s the way it’s meant to be, for me at least. My Mum was a great Mum and I’ll always remember her as that. Perhaps I was also more a Son to her than a person, I don’t know. I have no doubt that a relationship could have been forged, in later life, where we knew each other more as people than as close family. Unfortunately, I was gone from home by seventeen and Mum was not permitted to enjoy those later years where such a thing might have grown.
C’est La Vie, eh?
I can be regretful but I can be happy too. I guess I was never destined to know Mum as much more than Mum. I was damn lucky to have her as that.
So, (tips forehead to the skies) thinking of you Mum.
Thanks for everything, I appreciate it.
'You know?