If I said I was going to write about The End and you wanted to stop reading now, I would understand. After all, it is not as if doom and gloom is in short supply these days. But stay with me and I will try coax you to this ending.
It has been a strange week, with my seemingly indestructible and unbreakable mother in Bradford Royal Infirmary. She had a fall, not ice induced – possibly gin (humour please!) – but simply old age.
I suspected my festive re-introduction of gin to the old girl was a touch naïve. Realistically though, the wonky leg she has dragged around uncomplainingly for far too long simply gave up the ghost. One broken hip and that’s the end of chasing the bus to Bradford.
Marbles
Sadly too, for some time now her sharp, highly polished marbles have been slowly slipping out of the bag, a fate that awaits many of us. If it does, I hope is better understood and much more talked about.
It seems okay to talk about cancer or COVID-19, but hush now let us not suggest somebody close may not be as sharp as we once so enjoyed.
However, there is a lot out there to help us understand and – honestly – there are many positives to this slow, if inevitable slide. Above all, time is there to be appreciated like never before. These are the golden days.
Someday I may have to stand and attempt some fine words and day by day she is filling me in on the background story, my very own scriptwriter.
Her memories of fifty years and more ago are crystal clear but yesterday sometimes just never happened – not a bad thing in current times.
You might ask surely you should know the story? Yet how many of us do, no sooner out from under our mothers feet like baby penguins skating across the ice to the ocean of life with barely a backward glance?
Rewind
The best description I have read of this awful condition is comparing it to an audio/video cassette that is full and can neither be erased nor added to.
It is akin to a constant re-run of a Greatest Hits album but with the benefit of a line you had never heard properly or possibly not quite understood. And all the best bits are there.
Now seems a good time to fill some gaps rather than endure somebody you’ve never met, nor will do again – hopefully – to wax lyrically from the pulpit as if they were your best mate.
A multitude of thoughts bounced around in my head whilst out walking on a day so beautiful as to defy any dark thoughts.
The canal tow path was more crowded than Aldi, pleasantries exchanged with a downward facing grunt and fast forward. I hardly noticed anybody in truth.
To Be A Child
Eventually, I watched jealously as numerous youngsters cascaded down a snow covered hill, sledges and bodies often flying off in different directions.
Ruddy faced mums and dads stood at the top, about to argue who/what would each collect and drag back before another repeat.
The excited screams of the young daredevils brought a broad smile to my face; what I would give for a go. Would asking be a little weird?
Realising that my descent would most likely end with an adjacent bed to my mum and her lifelong Go on…explain that one? look, I walked on.
My sledging days were long since gone as were many others.
Days
Maybe the end might not be that bad after all, not that I was wishing it forward for anybody, least of all yours truly.
I thought about the things that I used to love doing and now no longer can, either because I am too old, or the consequences would be disastrous.
Sporting days played as if my life depended on it are a faded memory. Weekends in crowded pubs full of laughs, possibilities and unbelievably bad hangovers.
Mad holidays blinded by naivety, stupidity and a sense of immortality. Days in sharp suits, Master of my own tiny, self-imagined universe.
One More Hill
Climbing another muddy hill, I looked out across the valley on this gorgeous day, happy to be alive and not sat on a sledge about to fly down a hill.
I thought of my defiant old mum in a distant hospital ward surrounded by people in masks. She would be doubtless wondering what all the fuss was about, chirping away, having them in stitches with tales from Barrow-in-Furness.
Certain I still did not know enough about this woman who had given me everything and more, it was humbling. Like the best show you ever saw slowly coming to an end, I wanted it just to keep on going.
There is no encore.
Graham Morgan says
Hi Steve
This is a wonderfully poignant piece. I think this is the best article you have written and I really enjoy your work.
It has resonated with me to the core.
Thanks for sharing.
Sending my best. Stay safe.
Graham
Cathy Holmes says
The Barrow family, heard so much about them over the years from my Dad and aunty Kathleen…give the old bird a cuddle. X
Mike Adams says
Profound Steve, very well said. Give Kath my best regards in the hope that she remembers me.
And you never once mentioned Bradford Council!!!
Brian Kirby says
Beautiful words Steve. They struck a poignant chord. It doesn’t seem that long ago that your mum was keeping an eye on mine on Saturday nights at Villas. Best wishes and I hope things go as well as possible.