The Musings Of An Opinionated Sod [Help Me Grow!]

I’ve written a lot about what happened and how it affected me, but 3 years down the line, I am more focused on the joyful memories we had together rather than the tragic last days.

Infact the shift in mindset is so great, that I was only reminded this day was approaching by friends writing to me to send their love and support for this most horrible of anniversaries.

Now don’t get me wrong, Mum is always on my mind.

Just last week I saw an elderly lady who – for a number of reasons – reminded me of Mum.

She looked kind and gentle. Her grey hair gently framing her face. And as she sat alone, waiting quietly for her takeaway order to arrive from the restaurant kitchen. I couldn’t stop stealing glances at her. Of course I knew it wasn’t Mum and yet there was something about her that made me feel like her energy was very similar.

Then I started crying.

Not loudly, not even obviously … but tears were running down my face and when she walked out the restaurant, I had to tell myself not to chase her out to the parking lot and tell her she reminded me of my wonderful Mum and could I have a hug.

Thank god for my brains objectivity or I could be writing this from jail.

But as I sit here, on the 3rd anniversary of her passing, I feel a different person.

Of course I miss her and would give anything to see her hold the precious grandson she never got to meet in person, but I’m in a much better place than I was and that is something I know Mum would be very happy about.

Of course part of this is because of time. Part of this is because Otis keeps us focused on the future and the joy of life. And part of this is because I now have a very different lifestyle to the one I had when all this happened, but that doesn’t take away the fact I now feel able to enjoy the life I had with my Mum rather than the last days.

And that is why, if she was here today, I would want to say this to her …

Mum, I love you.

I love you so much and I am so grateful for all you did for me and – in a weird way – continue to do for me.

I remember the days before your operation, we were talking about things that highlighted there may not be the outcome we all hoped would happen.

I tried to brush it off as I wanted us to stay positive but the fact I discovered how much organisation you had done in the weeks prior to your operation – in case the worst happened – showed this was something you had thought about a lot.

It breaks my heart you went through that.

I can’t imagine what it must have been like to sort through your papers incase something happened.

To put things aside for me to find.

To label things for me to be aware of.

To say a potential goodbye to the things you cared about.

And while I wish you didn’t feel you had to do it, I know it’s another demonstration of how much you loved me and it made a difference to how I dealt with those first few weeks of you passing.

But if you were around, there would be something else I’d want you to know.

One of the conversations we had was you saying how sorry you were for not having much to leave me.

I told you, you were wrong but now I can articulate that more clearly.

First of all, you left me a house.

Our house.

Our paid-for house.

That in itself is amazing and I’m so happy the family we chose to help in your name are enjoying it as much as we did.

But there’s more.

An incredible amount more.

You left me with a lifetime of wonderful memories.

Of love and support and values I live by.

You gave me recipes I feed my family with.

You gave me paintings [& some of your owls] that lets me always feel a connection between the life I had and the life I have.

You gave me the gift of playing a musical instrument by encouraging me to learn after thinking I showed ‘talent’ on the 2-string acoustic that was lying around the house.

You gave me the gift of growing up in a loving, caring, compassionate and supportive family that has become an amazing guide for how we want to bring Otis up.

[He’s an amazing little boy and calls you Nonna whenever he sees a photo of you or looks at the owl tattoo I had for you]

The reality is you gave me so much, but most of all, you gave me the best Mum I could ever wish for and for that I will be eternally grateful.

I’m so sorry you’re gone Mum but I’m so happy you were mine.

And always will be.

Hugs to you and Dad.

Love you.

Rx