I don’t really know how to explain it, but I have been missing my Mum a fair bit lately. For those of you who don’t know, my Mum died in March 2012, after a difficult time. It was a few days before my birthday, just before I retired, and a week before I moved to Norfolk. It was all a bit quick, and everything happened during a very short period.
I have her ashes in an urn in a room here. Last year, I bought a marble bird-bath. It contains a purpose-built inner sleeve, designed to hold her ashes, and I intended to place it in our garden, as a memorial to her. I don’t know why, but I just haven’t been able to get around to doing that yet. I must really organise myself to get this done soon, as it has gone on too long.
Until she became confused and difficult, following multiple strokes, I had a very good relationship with my Mum. We could talk about anything and everything; and she was always forthright in her comments, despite our closeness. The funny thing is, I don’t even have anything I need to talk about. There are no issues in my life, nothing I need her advice on, and no concerns that I want to discuss. Part of me just wishes that she was still around.
Of course, if she was here, my life would be completely different. She would have care problems, and she might well be cantankerous, and hard to get on with. At the end, she wanted to die, and we also wanted what was best for her quality of life. I thought that I had dealt with it all. At the age of 62, I was sure that I could go on, and be happy that she had no more need to suffer.
But just for the last few days, I have missed her. And I have no idea why.