Memories of Mum

Photo of mum in locket

There are so many things about mum that I took for granted while she was still here. I only realised it once she was gone, and now I just have those memories of mum instead.


Her pink fluffy dressing gown.

Her little notes. 

Her sage advice in difficult situations.

Her cups of tea and frothy coffee.

Her optimism and her insistence that we had to look for the good, whatever happened. 

Her familiar answer when picking up the phone – “HelLOOO! Y’allriiiigghttt?”

Her listening to her audiobooks by one headphone only, with the other trailing down by her side.

Her ability to calm any panic with simple solutions.

Her morning texts which I would glance at, but not read properly (there would be another one tomorrow, right?).

Her Mary Berry level baking skills. 

Her pestering messages to send thank you letters after Christmas or a birthday. 

Her trying, but spectacularly failing, to teach me how to play the recorder (apparently, you don’t just hum down it… who knew?!).

Her joy in the smallest of things.

Her words of pride whenever we achieved anything, or even if we just tried (although I don’t remember much pride after the recorder fiasco…).

Her illegible writing.

Her slicing any cake into tiny slivers to enjoy delicately with a pastry fork. 

Her delicious ham and cheese quiche.

Her excited wave whenever I would see her waiting for me at the train station.

Her pre-university ironing lessons, including a sleeve board tutorial… 

Her cleaning tips (Google is not a reliable advisor).

Her requests for our lists of “small Christmas gifts” in October.

Her humming along to classical music on BBC Radio 3.

Her little feet perched on a footstool as she read her beloved books.

Her ferocious cleaning routine.

Her calling me her “bright star”.

Her fairy cakes.

Her sparkly brooches, pinned on every outfit – “I looooove a bit of bling, me!”

Her unending patience.

Her enormous Emma Bridgewater mug collection.

Her alarmingly extensive knowledge of British birds (curveball I know). 

Her urgent texts about the latest “scams” she had read about in the Telegraph.

Her little giggles at the silliest of things.

Her insistence to visit the Waterstones cafe ahead of any others in the entire city.

Her matching lime green accessories (which I, of course, had to hunt down for her across the internet). 

Her bedroom drawers filled with countless identical pristine ironed white T-shirts, all having been tailored to fit her tiny little body.

Her ability to chain-drink tea.

Her fierce loyalty and protective stance for anyone she cared for.

Her love.

Her care.

Her face.


I’m not writing this to lament my loss, or to mope in these memories of mum – I’ve spent enough time doing that in front of the US Office with a pot of Pringles.

Instead, these memories serve as a timely reminder of how unbelievably lucky and blessed I have been. Mum has left truly beautiful memories in her wake, and I am so grateful she was my beautiful mum, and always will be.

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