Second Helpings

For My Mum

On Saturday I attended a Memorial Service held for those who have lost a loved one this year. It was a cold but bright morning and the sun illuminated the beautiful church. Of course it was very emotional and there were many tears, but it was strangely comforting to be amongst others who will also be grieving as the year comes to an end. It also spurred me on to complete the entry below which I've been deliberating about for a long time.


When I started this second blog I knew there’d be some big knocks in my life along the way. I have recorded here the majority of my bad days, my unexpected traumas and my concerns over matters both big and small. So, it is only right for me that I include a dedication to my Mum, as I want her to be remembered in my blog, just like many other people and things. I do not ask you to read or comment or ask for sympathy in any way. I’m doing this for my Mum, my sister, my family and myself so I quite understand if you wish to move on. Thank you.

Where do you start to find the words and express the emotions when the woman who you have always called your Mum passes away? I do not wish to record your life events or write a flowery eulogy, but simply to express my love and gratitude for having you in my life as a very special person and mother. My heart breaks at your loss but I realise I’ve been fortunate to keep you so long and you too were fortunate to pass over just as you had wished. I hope you are at peace and know we will always think about you every day for as long as we remain on this earth.

You were a very unconventional woman and mother; I know you’ll agree with Penny and I when we smile and say they broke the mould after they made you. I have chosen five adjectives to encompass your character – stoic, spiritual, quirky, caring and gifted. There are many more of course and it goes without saying how much we loved you and you loved us. That love will continue always.

I think we are lucky. Lucky to have had a Mum so out of the ordinary. Oh, you could be cantankerous, stubborn, selfish, irritable and argumentative, but who isn’t without fault and those qualities are part of what made you who you were. But your unique character and broad-minded attitude to life stand out far more than any flaws.

We are lucky you made us part of your family and always ensured we kept in touch with relatives. Lucky too, you told us so much about those who’d gone before, so we knew where our roots lay. You kept your loved ones alive for us through conversation, recordings, photographs and writing, ensuring no one in our family would ever be forgotten. So too your many wonderful friends who you made part of our lives. You always felt those you had loved were always around you; something we try to carry with us as we move forward.

We are lucky to be different in having links and relatives on the other side of the Atlantic through your marriage. You being a G.I. bride has always been and will continue to be a fascinating story to many. Through research we’ve linked up with family over there and hope to expand our knowledge. Who knows, one day we may have the opportunity to meet the relatives you brought us through marrying an American.

We are lucky to have visited so many wonderful places with you and to have the memories of some amazing and often very funny events. The Isle of Wight, Wimbledon, Folkestone, Derby and Staffordshire, as well as many more local places will always hold special places in our hearts. Happy times with friends and relatives no longer here will always be remembered thanks to you making each unique.

We are lucky to have had a Mum so willing to encourage us in our pursuits, both educational and pastoral. You were always prepared to give us advice and guidance with our problems and support in our ambitions. You allowed us to make our own decisions and mistakes, though you always made it clear when something did not meet with your approval. You made us proud by always staying young at heart and taking on modern ideas and inventions. You recognised the importance of a good education and helped us to achieve things you were never given the opportunity to fulfil. You had an original perspective on life which has left us with many comforting memories and reasons for laughter.

You were a wonderful Nanny to your three grandchildren, especially to Paul, who will always carry his own personal memories of your special times together and the fun you shared. It’s painful you didn’t get to see your first great-grandson, but in emulating the love you gave to Paul, I hope to share anecdotes of you with Dylan as he grows and develop as loving a relationship with him, as you did with your grandchildren. We are lucky to have had you there to watch our own children grow up and to receive your wise advice during times of difficulties with them.

We are lucky you survived several very serious illnesses; indeed had you not recovered from Diphtheria in your teens we would not have been born. It was sad to witness your decline in the last few years as Dementia robbed you of the things you enjoyed doing and robbed us of many of the qualities you possessed which we’d relied on for most of our lives. But, you remained stoic, never lost that quirky sense of humour and thankfully didn’t reach the stage where you no longer knew us. I know you’ll forgive our jokes about La La Land and realise it was the only way we could cope with what we were witnessing.

We are lucky you didn’t suffer any lingering or distressing physical pain and although the hole you have left in our hearts will never completely be repaired, we are grateful your passing was sudden and unexpected. The shock will never be forgotten but we know the pain will ease somewhat in time and we will remember all those very happy and often hilarious adventures we shared with you. Of course, we will never stop missing you.

I hope we said goodbye to you in the way you would have wished. I hope you liked our choice of music and forgive the mix up over the last song. It turned out more appropriate as it happened and we’d like to believe you somehow influenced that mistake. As you were born on the twelfth and died on the twelfth and because you loved the song, how could we not have chosen the first one which succinctly sums up the way we feel.

I’ll love you till the bluebells forget to bloom.
I’ll love you till the clover has lost its perfume.
I’ll love you till the poets run out of rhyme
Until the twelfth of never and that’s a long, long time.

Goodnight Mum, God Bless. May you rest in peace and the knowledge our love for you will never fade.

In loving memory of Irene May Colborn. May 12th 1924 – July 12th 2008.