Mum

Today has been a bit of a something or nothing day.  I don 't feel down or sad, just a bit - bleh.  Music always helps, had Omar's new album and Shuffler playing, reminding me why soulful melodies and meaningful lyrics lift my spirit.

As I put my daughter to bed, thoughts travelled to an often-visited trail; what would happen if my Mum was still here?  I deemed it a cliché when people say they think of a dead person who was dear to them 'every day', but it's true.  There hasn't been a single 24 hour period where I haven't remembered something she said when I was a kid, or heard that "Do do-do" noise she expressed when thinking, or smelled a fragrance she wore.  The remains of love that used to sting with each reminder, but now dance around my subconscious with "I really should clean the rug," or "Seen this episode of The Big Bang Theory six times now, turn over."

For those who don't know me or my story, a short version.

1997.  I'm 20 years old.  At University in Luton.  Mum does her best to pretend she doesn't miss me but always asks if I'll be back at weekends.  I don't have a lecture on Monday, so I'd make it a long weekend and drive back up to Luton on Monday night.  Last time I saw her physically was the Monday, she was in bed and I stood in her bedroom doorway.  We had a chat about a mutual friend, and I bid her goodnight.  Usual reminder that I must call when I get in.  Tuesday, she's writing a letter to my Grandfather in the West Indies, she feels a pain in her leg.  Wednesday, she's in agony.  I speak to her at lunchtime, she sounds OK.  Tells me off because I haven't gotten round to getting a parking permit so I'm getting daily parking tickets.  Responsible me!  Thursday (11th December), my Dad calls at lunch but I miss it, tells me Mum is really not well and I should get in touch.  Thursday evening I'm in the computer lab at Uni, a woman sat next to me bursts into tears for a reason still mysterious to me at 7:00pm.  At the same time in Slough, my brother is running late for work, but just before he opens the front door, she calls his name and collapses in her room... Pulmonary Thoracic Aortic Aneurysm.  She was 42 years old.

All the pain has dulled.  It wasn't tragic.  Just unexpected and painful.  So, when major life events come and go, naturally I wonder if things would have been different if she were still here.  And then I wonder about her reaction to them.  Dad and I were in my car last Wednesday, talking about all sorts.  We'd just been to the cemetery to put in fresh flowers, wash the head stone, tidy up.  He asked me what I thought Mum's attitude would be towards my daughter, Francesca.  Fran is a character.  Joyful and mischievous in equal measure, constantly on the run.  Dad and I both mused that Mum would adore Fran, I added that she would probably have bossed me about a bit during the pregnancy and done that thing that most West Indian parents do where they act like they're never going to help you, then been all over Fran and taking over her care.  The musings brought a smile to both of our faces.

Just now when I was putting Fran to bed, the conversation popped back into my head.  But this time I thought, would she have been like that?  Unfortunately Mum and I never got round to talking about the mechanics of pregnancy so I don't know much about my own gestation and birth, except that I came on my due date. Dad doesn't have much to add to that (it was the 70s, going to ante natal appointments and meeting midwives and actually being at the birth of your child wasn't "the done thing").  How would she have felt about my pregnancy?  Would she have had loads of tips for morning sickness, been sympathetic?  Would she have come and helped out when Fran was first born, done night feeds while Stu and I rested?  I think sometimes when a person close to us has died, as time fades we tend to hold onto the good memories and let the negatives slide.  It's all a bit rose tinted and flowery, this image my father and I had conjured up of Granny Browne.  For a short moment tonight I wondered if that was a bad thing?

Don't get me wrong.  Mum was great, over generous, thoughtful, very strong, but she could be short tempered.  She had a mostly no nonsense approach to parenting.  Maybe she would have been strict with Fran (which my dear daughter does not appreciate!), or indifferent. Her life could have shaped her attitude. Do I honestly believe the negatives?  No.  My Mum loved being useful, especially to me and my brother, she was very industrious and I'm sure she would had thrown her heart and soul into being Granny Browne.  I suppose I just don't want to paint a beautiful picture of a life that never was because it makes me miss what I, and more importantly, Mum and Fran, never had all the more.

Anyway, either way we shall never know.  These are the things that cross my mind, and I think, "I'll write about that," then it gets late and I put it off for another day.