September 16th, 2024.
Sure, Positive Absolutely Certain
“Are you sure?”
“Yes”
“Positive?”
“Yes”
“Absolutely certain? “
“YES mother !!!”
And each time I used to think – For God’s sake stop treating me in my 40’s, 50’s, 60’s
Like a child.
But suddenly here we are at the first anniversary of your passing when they carried you feet first from your beloved house, exactly as you wanted.
We’ve made it through 365 days of you not saying “Are you sure, positive, absolutely certain?”
And for 365 days I’ve never been less sure less positive, less absolutely certain of anything in my life.
Mum – the knowing you’ve left the building has been positively tough.
So have the hundreds of times I’ve reached for my mobile about to dial your number to report an achievement, ask advice or just to say I’ll pop into Budgens and pick up a half a loaf and some tomatoes, and then remembering I can’t buy you a tomato – any more ever!
Sam has also been writing endless poems about missing you and the guilt and the memories.
Oh, the recollections we share of the fusty clothes, musty rooms filled with a 1000 dusty books and empty envelopes.
And the smells – like your chicken soup with celery, and oxtail, carrots and barley in the pressure cooker.
Never thought I’d miss being told off for sniffing the milk, hearing you say sharply
“It’s perfectly fine just scrape off the top”.
“No mum it’s sour – a month past its sell by!”
I miss her raised eyebrow and lifetime of denial as I showed her the floaty bits of curdle on top of the coffee, and how she would say
“Stuff and Nonsense”
or
“Nothing wrong with yoghurt.”
or
“Just have lemon tea!”
I used to get cross and now wish I could.
Mum, I miss the Elizabeth Arden Blue Grass, like the one I bought you for your last birthday on earth.
You never opened it, but Sam did a few weeks ago, spraying it in short bursts round the hall either to mask the staleness or to try and remember your scent pretending for an instant you are there.
Your bottle of Blue Grass sits near the front door now in the too tidy house, and we add the ache to the guilt of waving goodbye to skip loads of costumes and boxes of pans and mismatched crock as they fill the shelves in Age Concern.
Today I’m unsure of anything, except knowing I miss you for all your annoying little nuances.
The only thing I know, as we plough on through the muddle of everything, is that I’m sure, positive and absolutely certain I miss you and wish I could roll my eyes because you’ve said that to me again 365 times since you couldn’t anymore.
Although I believe you are still making your presence felt in the red admiral butterflies and all the woo woo stuff which I know is proof, the silence is just difficult mum.
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