When Mom died I tried to think of all the funny things she said and did, before the illness and hospital visits, before the diagnosis, and I was utterly horrified at how hard it was to remember her as she really was.
I told my fears to a friend who had similarly lost a parent, and he said something that brought me a lot of comfort. That as time passes I’ll be going about my life and a memory will resurface, connected to her, and I’ll be able to admire it and store it on the shelves of my memory, like an antique.
One of those memories I have is every mothers day, Dad would stop by a hill for us to pick daffodils. It turns out that they were full of bugs so I don’t think Mom appreciated them quite as much as I thought she did, but I associate them with her now anyway.
Below is a collection of memories that I have scrawled down as they come. I call them “Antique Daffodils”
Mom taught me how to make daisy chains,
fought my curly hair every morning for school,
and played Destiny’s Child CD’s during her baths.
When both me & my sister got nits it took her hours & hours to nit-comb through our thick curly hair, but I loved the feeling of the comb. It was heaven.
Mom was a nurse in a previous life, and it showed.
If I had a mild medical malady she could see right through it and I’d just have to deal with it, but she was excellent and the best when you really needed it.
We were friends with some street kids, Dad took them to the park, to Mcdonalds, Mom bought extra food for BBQs in our garden…
Then suddenly one day out of the blue two of them, Ricky & Lindsey, started calling us Pakkis.
When they saw it bothered us they smelt blood in the water and spread the fever to some of the other street kids, and so the bullying began. They even started on Mom, calling her fat from outside our house.
So one day Dad pulled Lindsey aside as was like ‘what did you just say to them?’ And her brother Ricky went and fetched their parents.
Then this argument broke out in our garden, with Mom as our Chief Defender.
(The kids at the bottom is me and my little sister who I remember was just crying ‘go away!’ at the nasty woman calling us Pakkis)
Arm Tickling Sessions
The “Time to Get Up for School” song
Mum Driving Us To Places
Mom with Monty