December 13th, 2024. It’s that time of year again when my thoughts turn to someone who is no longer, because it was forty-one years ago today that my Mum passed away at the age of 53. I was just 12 years old when this happened.
I’ve found myself thinking about her, and about Dad, a hell of a lot over the past eighteen months, particularly when I was in hospital. As I approached my 52nd birthday I really thought that I could be heading down the same road she did.
I also found myself thinking about how Mum and Dad would have handled my being in that situation. I quickly came to the conclusion that was a daft thing to think about. If they had been alive I have no doubt that they would have been fussing over me and making sure everything was okay because, simply put, they were my Mum and Dad, and that was what they did.
My thoughts turned to them again a few weeks ago during my appointment at the big hospital with Mr. Szafron, the surgeon who operated on me last year. He showed me the x-ray that was taken during my first stay there, an x-ray showing that my right lung was partially collapsed and completely full of fluid. He emphasized just how ill I was when he told me that “it really was touch and go for a while.”
Mum and Dad would have done everything to make sure I was okay, just as they did when I was younger and suffering from colds, twisted ankles or anything else.
Big brother Paul told me that it’s possible that they were in that hospital room with me, watching over me, but seeing as I’m not sure if I believe in God I’m not sure if I believe they were.
But now, forty-one years after she passed, I still feel her influence on my life, even if I can’t feel her presence.
I’ve found myself thinking about her, and about Dad, a hell of a lot over the past eighteen months, particularly when I was in hospital. As I approached my 52nd birthday I really thought that I could be heading down the same road she did.
I also found myself thinking about how Mum and Dad would have handled my being in that situation. I quickly came to the conclusion that was a daft thing to think about. If they had been alive I have no doubt that they would have been fussing over me and making sure everything was okay because, simply put, they were my Mum and Dad, and that was what they did.
My thoughts turned to them again a few weeks ago during my appointment at the big hospital with Mr. Szafron, the surgeon who operated on me last year. He showed me the x-ray that was taken during my first stay there, an x-ray showing that my right lung was partially collapsed and completely full of fluid. He emphasized just how ill I was when he told me that “it really was touch and go for a while.”
Mum and Dad would have done everything to make sure I was okay, just as they did when I was younger and suffering from colds, twisted ankles or anything else.
Big brother Paul told me that it’s possible that they were in that hospital room with me, watching over me, but seeing as I’m not sure if I believe in God I’m not sure if I believe they were.
But now, forty-one years after she passed, I still feel her influence on my life, even if I can’t feel her presence.
Miss you lots Mum.
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