A Tribute to Mum
I started feeling melancholy on the weekend and tweeted about why anything (especially people) have to have an expiry date.
I think it’s because I was heading towards this date.
30th April 2009 – the day my mother would have turned 60.
The anniversary of death can slip past now as just another day, but today I feel poignant, empty, because it’s a day I should have been celebrating with my mother.
I remember as we approached Mum’s 40th birthday, she insisted that she didn’t want a surprise party. She was concerned that if a party was arranged, she’d be stuck celebrating her birthday with a bunch of drunks and people she didn’t want to spend time with. We’d planned a suprise but as most of the family were in on the planning, we knew exactly what she would like.
We took her to a Woolshed dinner at Picton, surrounded by her Gourmet Club pals, her cake decorating friends and everyone who’s company she enjoyed. And she loved it.
We never got to celebrate her 50th birthday – she passed away, far too young, at 48 years old.
I wonder what Mum would have been like at sixty…
Still cake decorating? I’m certain.
Still going to the cinema and rocking the whole row of chairs with her infectious laughter? I’m sure.
Still chatting to anyone who breathed? Undoubtedly.
Still cooking the best roast chook in town? To perfection.
Revelling in being a grandmother? And loving it!
Reading my stories? And adding her own suggestions for plot twists.
Mum would still be cooking, and cake decorating, and belly laughing. She’d be having fun with her family, and adoring her grandkids. She’d probably have given Arnold Schwarznegger the flick for Hugh Jackman. She’s still be buying subscription tickets for the Ensemble Theatre and winning movie tickets. And she’d still be Mum.
Thanks Mum for making me who I am today.