I took a sabbatical from work in 2010 and was able to spend
a great deal of time with Mum during the final months
of her life. When she felt up to it, I'd
throw the wheelchair into the back of the car
and we'd go for a pub lunch, visit a garden
centre or just take a drive in the country.
Increasingly though, the destination for our
outings was the hospital, for tests, X-Rays,
blood transfusions and, ever more regularly,
periods of in-patient care.
Unfortunately, when I think of Mum now, it's
often as she was in those last few months -
unwell, infirm, dying. Luckily though, there are many photos in the family archive to remind
me of how I should
really remember her. Take
this one for example.
It's the Summer of 1964, we're on holiday at
Jaywick Sands and I'm a four year old scaredy cat on
the swings, barely moving and steadfastly refusing any offers of a push. Mum tries to
encourage me by going higher and higher
herself, showing me that it's safe. I'm at once excited and terrified, for her and for me. She's laughing, full of fun,
full of mischief, full of life. And this is
how I think of her today, the fourth
anniversary of her passing.
