My own mum passed away this month 16 years ago.  16 years. My goodness, how quickly time does fly. And in the intervening years she has never been far from my mind, but it is always now that I think of her most. Around Mother’s Day, in May. I was just 18 when cancer got the better of her. From then until now so much in my own life has changed, and with it the things I remember about Mum ebb and flow. Initially, railing against the injustice of losing a mother, I remembered the immediate past; specific dog walks, conversations, arguments and time spent together. I remember the lost feeling of no longer having the one person that knew me best.

As time went on, I thought of different things, and wished to speak to her not only as daughter to mother, but also as woman to woman. To talk about love and life, paths to take, finding partners and losing them, and knowing just when you’d met the one person with whom you wanted to share a life and family. And children, to talk about children.

Now, as I sit at the sewing machine or knit with Maus at my side, as we choose books at the library, as we feed the dogs together or plant the vegetable garden,  I catch glimpses of the woman I imagine my mother to have been when she also did these things with small children at her side.

My dad has long since remarried another wonderful woman, and she is one of the 2 Grandma’s Mausi and Cub are lucky to have. As they grow I will tell them about their Granny they never met, and I will be saddened from time to time, by that very fact. But that sadness is fleeting; a brief summer rainfall.

I no longer mourn the loss of my mother, but am thankful instead for the mum who left me with countless memories and examples to learn from. A mum who ran a busy household and laid the groundwork for the strong, independent women her children would become, and from whose example I learn as I find my own way as mother.

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