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

I’ve written a huge amount about how her death affected me.

How I realised that the operation to save her life, had cost her her life.

And yet, unlike Dad’s anniversary – that looms large over me, every year – Mum’s often slips my mind. There has been more than one occasion where the only reason I remembered it was because a friend wrote to send me their love on her anniversary.

Now I should point out I utterly love my Mum.

She was an incredible human who continues to influence how I look at the world.

But while her birthday is cemented in my heart and mind, the anniversary of her death isn’t.

Of course the circumstances between Mum and Dad dying were vastly different.

If you read this one day Jill, I hope you understand what I mean.

You were a rock to me. You helped me get through one of the worst times of my life without letting it become more terrible. So please don’t think I didn’t appreciate you – I did and I do and I always will.

This is all a bit rambling isn’t it?

The irony is that while I feel guilt about having to consciously remember Mum’s anniversary – despite having a tattoo of it on my arm – Mum would probably be very happy about it.

For her, she would see it as me remembering her birthday more than her final day – and that’s exactly how she would want it.

It took me 10 years to get to that stage for my Dad, but with Mum it was much quicker.

Again, there are probably many reasons for it – including Otis being only 3 months old when Mum died – but when I think of her, I think of her warmth, compassion, curiosity and spirit.

She was a gentle woman but also a determined one.

Actually determined isn’t quite right … she was, but in the pursuit of her independence. By that I mean in terms of her mind, beliefs, interests and life.

The older I get, the more I appreciate how she handled life.

It wasn’t the easiest, but she never complained or wanted help because she always recognised there were people worse off than her.

I can’t tell you how many ‘discussions’ we had about me wanting to give her money to make her life a little easier and her refusing to take it. It took years for us to find a way to make it work for both of us … which was me putting money in her bank account and she not spending a penny of it. Hahaha.

Oh I miss her.

I miss her voice, her face, her eyes, her questions and her love.

I am so glad I was with her when she died.

I knew one of her biggest fears was being alone when it happened … we had talked about it after it had happened to my Aunt – which is why of all the things I could do for her, making sure this didn’t happen is the one that I know she would have appreciated most.

Of course, not everyone is so lucky to know when this could happen – but with both my Mum and Dad, circumstances meant we were together and I’m so grateful for that.

Not that I always felt that way …

When I was much younger, the idea of being with my parents when they died was too overwhelming for me to consider.

I think I may even have told my parents.

How I imagined it would destroy me.

And it did.

But it was also incredibly important.

Because at that moment, everything was about them.

Their comfort. Their peace. Their ability to take that final step.

I’m not saying it was easy … I’m not saying it didn’t hurt … but in my mind, if it helped them, that’s all that really mattered.

And it helped both my parents.

Which means it helped me.

Because when they needed me most, I was there.

And while the pain of them dying will never heal, I know being there means it didn’t go as deep as it could.

When I think of this day, I think of everything that happened over that day.

It still stings.

But as much as I wish none of it happened, I am so glad I was able to be with her – and Dad.

Because I now see it as the most unlikely beautiful gift we could give each other.

I miss you Mum.