For quite some months I’ve thought I should pop in to visit Mum but have driven on by. I’ve felt guilty that I’ve not given her a bit of a spruce up and polish.
When my friend announced on Saturday night, that instead of his usual train route, he would need to get a train to Mum’s village and be collected by his golf partner, I could see no reason for my not visiting Mum (and offering him a lift down to his golf match).
AND it was Mothering Sunday, so perhaps even more fitting.
I hastily packed a bag with a trowel, secateurs, kitchen roll, cleaning wipes, a dustbin bag and baby oil – hehe Mum would find it highly amusing that this collection of items was what was required to give her a scrub up!
When I arrived I realised just how long it’s been since I visited. Her memorial stone almost hidden under newly grown turf.
I did feel guilty but then again it’s not where Mum is now. She’s dead. Her memory lives on but her physical body is gone. I don’t need to visit a stone to remember her. However lovely it is to be there and tending her stone.