4th March 1926

There are days you wake up and the date is familiar and then you remember. Today 4th March was my Mother’s birthday and were it not for the fact she died 19 years ago today she would have been 97.

Ok I’m getting sentimental but there isn’t a day that passes where she doesn’t comeback to my mind. If only I had listened to her more but I always said that with loved ones there is never enough time.

For sure however I look back and understand her more. Born between two world wars her parents had died by the time she was 8 years old and her loving Uncle brought her up in a small town in Ireland. She was 13 at the outbreak of war and eloped with my Father to England to marry shortly after war ended. My mother was devout Roman Catholic and I teased her about having a shareholding in the Vatican. She met the Pope.

My mother did many jobs but spent her best years working for Shell Oil at their Waterloo HQ. Unbeknown to meet she had a soft spot for the homeless and I discovered after her death that she had been a virtual lifelong supporter of The Passage , a homeless shelter in Victoria London. In her spare time she taught children to read and was a great advocate for good education. Single-handedly she helped bring up two Norwegian children when their parents split up and to this day they cry when mention of her is made.

She was not famous , she was not rich and she was given notice of her time as Cancer took her away from us. In the last three months of her life I had the great privilege of seeing her daily and sharing together. She slipped into a coma one Friday in June and her last words to me were exceptional and I live them daily. Three days later at the point of death she rose from her bed, arms open, broad smile and taken no doubt by Angels into the Heaven she so believed in.

Her body was buried by a tree in a cemetery which I had planted when I worked in my school holidays as a grave digger and today it shades the plot. We only have one Mother and I was honored to be one of her sons. She loved being spoilt and spoiled today I would have done, alas as she’s not here so I write the blog. It’s good to remember but most of all I carry her in my very being to pass to the next generation in this relay race that’s life.

Her name was Patricia.