Mum’s ashes lay next to a field which is often full of sheep and their little lambs. She would have loved that too. One of the local estates, Kingston Maurward, has ‘lambing weekends’, where you can go into the sheds and actually see the lambs being born. Mum was enchanted, and so was I, though I remember the chaps having to go outside for a breather. But after that she eschewed all lamb meat, in spite of it previously being her favourite roast dinner. She was tending towards vegetarianism as she got older, but for Dad, a meal wasn’t a meal unless there was meat in it., and there was no way that Mum was going to put her preferences in front of Dads.
When I was younger, I used to worry that Mum hadn’t fulfilled her potential, largely because Dad was the centre of her world, and whatever he wanted came first. She was so creative and so outgoing, and her life could have been different. But would she have been happier? I doubt it. She adored Dad, and he adored her, and they had worked out a way of being together that largely suited them both. I found a letter that Dad had written to Mum while he was out in Venezuela making gin for United Distillers, and it was so full of the longing to be home and to see her again that it reminded me that this was a love match, a true partnership in which each person needs and respects the other. Someone said that the truth of a marriage can never be seen from the outside and I think that’s an accurate observation.
Dad was at Mum’s funeral, but not at the interment – he broke his wrist in a fall last weekend and has a chest infection. I popped in to see him before the ceremony and he was asleep. He looks so frail now. He disturbed in his sleep and I stroked his hair as if he was a little boy. I left him a ‘frothy coffee’ and some Polo Mints and Dairy Milk chocolate. Hopefully the nurses will let him know that I visited, otherwise he’ll think he’s been visited by the confectionery fairy.
I did find a poem, though, which I thought represented him, even though he wasn’t there.
But what struck me most about the ceremony was the sense that life was bursting forth all around us, even as we mourned for Mum. As we bowed our heads in prayer the breeze rustled the leaves, and the jackdaws chinked overhead. I know that Mum would not want us to be frozen in time but to move on, to do whatever it was we are here to do. The flow of the river carries us forward however hard we cling to the riverbank. Mum lives on every time I’m in a gift shop and see something that she’d like, every time I smell White Diamond perfume, every time I hear ‘You Are My Sunshine’. I am bereft, but also strangely hopeful, as if everything has been scoured clean. I don’t know what will happen next, but as I look at the unfurling of the leaves, my heart lifts, just a little.
A lovely tribute to your mother. I think that devotion that extends to putting others (e.g. one’s husband) first is a generational expectation – my mother was the same. She expanded her interests after my father died and for twenty-five years experienced a renewed exploration of self. The poems you have selected are very apt for the occasion and are beautiful to read.
I’m sure you’re right, Anne….when Mum was dishing up dinner, she always gave herself the bit that was burnt, or otherwise less than perfect. Self-denial was an art form….I glad your Mum had the chance to discover herself. One thing Mum did do, which was very brave, was find herself a therapist who helped her through some very dark times.
Your mother is in a lovely place surrounded by nature, a beautifully written post. Best wishes to your dad for a speedy recovery.
thank you for the beautiful poems. amor manet. love remains.
Thank you again! You have a wonderful way of expressing your feelings.
Thank you, I’m glad you enjoyed it….
Oh dear, this post has truly knocked me sideways, it is so well written that I feel personally involved.
Try to stay smiley, won’t you? xx
Thanks. Very moving and truthful.
Regards Thom
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