This came up in my FB memories today. It was just 3 months later we lost mum ❤️
After a wee conversation with mum last night I’m still trying to work out if she’s recovering from being ill this week or had a relapse 😳
“Did you eat anything else today mum?”
“Yes I had peach Melba! I saw him from here make one on tv and I thought I could try that!”
“Really? Did you use tinned peaches? What did you make it with?”
“You had to whip up some goats milk first then put the other cream on top”
“Mum when have you ever in your life had goats milk??,”
“I didn’t! I had a sausage roll!”
For me becoming a grown-up wasn’t when I reached puberty (and that’s definitely a blog in itself), not when I was 18, when I married or when I had my first baby. It was when my mum died 6 years after dad and I realised I was no longer anyone’s “child”.
Mum was a “child” until a year before she died. Her father lived to be 95, mum died just after her 74th birthday. She may have been an old lady to many but when you saw her dad looking disapprovingly at her having one birthday drink too many you knew that at 70 she was still his child!
When your last parent dies there’s no-one “above” you. You are the next generation. You face your own mortality.
Mum’s dying wasn’t expected but wasn’t entirely unexpected either. Those who knew her know that mum loved nothing more than a wee…
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