My Mother …

mother, child, matriarch, friend….

It has been a year since my mother died

And when I think of her, which is every day, several times

As much as I mourn her passing, it brings to mind, her living

Her living past

Entwined with mine

Memories from childhood

A time, for example, when she lay out a new dress upon my bed, as a surprise for me

because that morning, I cried when she put my hair in a ponytail, and I didn’t like it in a ponytail,

 ‘I look like a boy’ I cried, I was 7 years old

I think of the time I tried to cycle my brothers bike out the gate and it was a bit too big for me

I wobbled on its frame and my little hands on the handlebars wobbled it this way and that

Until I fell off and she came running to help me up

I cried, first with the pain, then with laughter, and she cried with me and we were both in hysterics, laughing.   I was 8 years old.

I think of the time when I was 9 years old and I fell in the canal.  I could not swim.   I was terrified she would find out

She did, of course, mothers always find out!

She hugged me tight because she knew I was alright, unlike her brother who had drowned when he was only 14 years old

I saw the pain and relief in her face and I knew then, I would learn to swim and not mess about  the next time I had a swimming lesson at school.

I think of her laughter, her smiling eyes and the way they would light up

Her joy and excitement as I brought my own children into the world

Her love, her kindness and her generosity

I think too, of times when we would disagree and fight

Of how we would overcome the obstacles and begin again

I think of her courage at learning to drive in her late 50s and passing her test first time

I think of her learning to paint when she couldn’t even draw, and produce wonderful pieces of art, which hang on my walls

I think of her sacrifices to keep house and home together, when she could have been free

I think of her garden and how she nurtured it and brought it to life

When I think of my mother, I think of her beside me and I see her face, and that makes me happy

I think that even though I know  she has gone, I know too, that she is still here

my mother…. A woman of substance….