Missing my Mum

Mum's 84th birthday party

Mum's 84th birthday party

Today would be my mother Eileen’s 88th birthday. This was taken at her 84th birthday party, a big sunny outdoor meal at a local pub with all her daughters, three grand-daughters, one great grandson, one son-in-law and sundry friends.

So – cheers, Mum. Love Pam xxx

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3 Responses to “Missing my Mum”

  1. A London Elf Says:

    I only met her across a crowded room but I remember the words (or approximately the words): “and i will draw a veil over the teenage years…” I will refrain from making references to the Summerlands or any other kind of afterlife because I know you think it’s all crap but if nothing else she lives on in genetics and memory (google a poem called How long does a man live – it’s possibly by Roger McGough)

    xx

  2. Pam I Says:

    It’s by Brian Patten:

    So how long does a man live, finally?
    and how much does he live while he lives?
    We fret, and ask so many questions-
    Then it comes to us
    The answer is so simple.

    A man lives for as long as we carry him inside us,
    For as long as we carry the harvest of his dreams,
    For as long as we ourselves live,
    Holding memories in common, a man lives.

    His wife will carry his man’s scent, his touch,
    His children will carry the weight of his love,
    One friend will carry his arguments,
    Another will hum his favourite tunes,
    Another will share his terrors.

    And the days will pass with baffled faces,
    Then the weeks, then the months,
    Then there will be a day when no question is asked
    and the knots of grief will loosen in the stomach
    And the puffed faces will calm.

    And on that day he will not have ceased,
    But will have ceased to be separated by death.
    How long does a man live, finally?

    A man lives so many different lengths of time.
    ——————————————-
    from Armada (Flamingo (HarperCollins), 1996), copyright © Brian Patten 1996. The title poem there is also rather lovely.

    Sometimes poets have the only answers.

  3. A London Elf Says:

    Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world. (Shelley)

    It is lovely isn’t it. I passed it to R. as well. Chokes me when I read it and I have yet to confront true bereavement – well of the born at any rate.

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