And a few more.
I can still see you.
That's better)
will know that it's been a bit of a sad time for me just lately. My lovely mum (although I can't take entire ownership rights, my brother has part shares in her too) died this week. We knew it was coming, so the end was not as much of a shock as it otherwise would have been, but even though I was prepared, I still didn't account for how 'adrift' one feels when the last parent goes. My dad died nine years ago, so I've had a little practice though.
I suddenly realised that there is now nobody who remembers me as a newborn baby (my brother is younger. And anyway has a terrible memory and would probably invent some stuff about me being awful and unmanageable. Or something), or my first steps, or my first word.
And then I think, 'hang on. Why does it matter anyway? I clearly learned to walk and talk, although shutting up is more of a challenge, so why do I need corroborating evidence? And why should her death have to be felt purely as it related to me?'
Someone is gone who was once here. More lives are impacted than mine, she will be missed by my brother and his wife, who cared for her in her last years. By the nine grandchildren and three great grandchildren, by the step grandchildren and great grandchildren.
So there's now a Betty-shaped hole in the world. One that she filled for 86 years, so she gave it a good go and, hopefully, achieved a lot of the things she wanted to. She certainly gave a lot of sit-coms a good thrashing, and also enjoyed murder mysteries rather a lot. She could pronounce 'there's been a muurrrrrrderrrrr' with more Glaswegian emphasis than even Taggart managed, despite having been born and brought up in Windsor.
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| Never knowingly overfaced |
Now I inexplicably want to go and eat a giant dessert...
