There is a nice thread on Twitter today where people are remembering their mothers. This is my mum. I don’t often write about her. Actually, I never do. But today seems like a day to do so. This photo was taken before my Debs and I’m wearing a dress she made. I remember how certain I was that I wanted to wear a “cocktail” dress although the norm was to wear full-length dresses, and that I wanted it in a colour I called “burnt orange”. So together we went and bought the material and my mum made my dress exactly as I wanted. I have no photos of our trip to Hickeys to buy the fabric – I guess today we’d have taken a selfie on a trip like that, and one of our tea and cake after. I have very few photos of me with my mum. And after twenty-four years, memories can be tricky too. I do remember that she was camera-shy. A behind-the-scenes person quietly making everything better but never making a fuss. She always put herself last. She put up with all sorts of things without complaining, including stroppy teens. She was extraordinarily kind. Like, famous-in-the-neighbourhood kind. But never looked for attention or fuss or thanks. She was a dressmaker and a peacemaker. She’d have been an utterly perfect grandmother. I don’t need photos to know that.
Happy Mother’s Day, especially to anyone finding today tricky x