Dear Readers, Sunday was Mum’s birthday and this year she would have been 88 years old. My brother sent me a photo of the family gathered for Mum’s birthday dinner at a local pub in 2016. We had booked a table at the restaurant but sadly, though they took our reservation, when we rolled up the place was in darkness. Much hammering on the door resulted on it being opened, and the beleaguered woman who answered it was horrified that we were in our glad rags and expecting dinner. Nonetheless, she made us welcome, and the few staff who were there went into the kitchen and knocked us up something with chips, which we ate in solitary splendour. They even turned on the Christmas tree lights. Looking at the photo now, I’m struck by how pale Mum and Dad both look – by this point, life was a constant stream of hospital stays and antibiotics and steroids for chest infections. But if I could see which way the compass was pointing, I chose to ignore it. After all, Mum and Dad had both survived so many illnesses that would have killed lesser mortals that I fully expected that that would continue to be the case.
This was just a month before Mum and Dad came to stay with me in East Finchley for Christmas, and Mum ended up nearly dying of a chest infection in Whittington Hospital. In 2017, Mum and Dad celebrated 60 years of marriage, but in 2018 Mum died, followed by Dad in 2020.
I have the scarf that Mum is wearing in the photo in my wardrobe, along with so many other things that she made. Every so often, I pull something out and wear it. It feels as if she’s giving me a hug. She taught me so many things – how creativity is sometimes easier if you share what you make with other people, be it a scarf or a piece of writing. How everybody is interesting in their own way. And most importantly of all, how to be kind, and how to put aside judgement and work on the basis that everyone is doing their best. I don’t always manage it, but she makes me want to try, even now.
And here is the piece that I wrote last year, and here is the piece that I wrote in 2019, the year after her death. It’s interesting to see how grief morphs and changes as the years go by. We are never truly ‘over it’, but somehow joy returns, and the memories of the last awful years no longer overshadow all the good times.
And, as I said last year, I am sending love out to everyone who finds this season painful. There will be people reading this who have lost someone close to them this year, and for whom this will be the first Christmas without their loved one. Be gentle with yourself. Do what you need to do. Don’t strive for perfection, there’s no such thing under the sun. Follow the old family traditions where they bring comfort, but be prepared to ditch them if they no longer make sense, or are too painful. Grief is a process that never truly ends, and there is no right way to feel or not to feel: don’t let anybody tell you something different.
Mum at the Royal Oak pub in Milborne St Andrew 2012
As someone told me,many years ago when my husband died,you will never forget, at first where ever you walk it will be in front of you, but gradually as the years pass,it will move behind you, always there ,but easier to cope with . How true.
So true, Evadne, thank you.
We’ve marked the sixth anniversary of my Dad’s death this month. I always find it helps that the day falls not long after the period of national mourning on Armistice Day and Remembrance Sunday, as I feel connected to everyone else who has lost someone, whether it was at the time of the Second World War or during the time of Covid, or any time between or since. As the years go by, I think of Dad more and more as the man he was in his prime instead of how he was in his final year, aged 95.
I can see what you mean about your parents both looking pale in this photo – but I remember from the photos you shared of their golden wedding anniversary celebration the following year how well and happy they looked on that day. My Mum and Dad were both unwell at the time of their golden anniversary, so the photos always make me feel sad – but then I look at the pictures of Mum on her 90th birthday, four years later, when she looks bright and happy, just as I remember her.
It was of course a diamond wedding anniversary which my parents and yours celebrated in 2016 and 2017 respectively, not golden!
I remember, Liz…
You’re right, Liz, they really rallied for their 60th Wedding celebration, but it was the last time that they were ‘themselves’ – still, they had that time, and it’s lovely to remember how much they enjoyed themselves.