Is that a Buttercup?

Mr H and I sit on a cold damp bench during a walk around the woods up the Lickey Hills. The autumn sun tries to break through the thin cloud above us, while amongst the many moulted bird feathers I spy something yellow a few metres from my feet.

Is that a buttercup I ask Mr H?

He laughs.

Is it the top of a packet of peanut M&M’s then, I ask thoughtfully with a rumbling belly?

No…

I get up and take the few steps needed to reach this yellow thing or two… Ah it’s tiny autumnal leaves I smile. They have fallen from the trees which I have just been hugging.

We are repeating a walk we did in January. There were three of us and a rollator then. Mr H, my precious mom and me. We were on a tree hugging pilgrimage with mom. The trees were almost bare of leaves then, but not of hugability.

Mom chose tree after tree for us to hug, can you feel the energy from this one she grinningly asked.

This one is really buzzing with energy, can you feel it?

Sort of mom we said as we pressed our cheeks closer to the bark.

Now nearly eight months later it is mom’s energy I hope to feel when I hug the same trees. 

In September we said a formal farewell to our precious mom, the person who has been at the core of my life since the day I was born. Mom spurred me on through self-doubt as a child; sat for hours with me late at night while I cried with worry about tomorrows’ spelling test at school; grinned with joy when I passed my first degree.

Mom never doubted my ability to become a nurse and let me fly away from home at the age of 17. I was unaware how hard that was going to be for her until the tears started to trickle down her cheeks when we ate Sunday lunch the day I was to leave. I was only going a few miles up the road I said, not really understanding how big an event this was for her. But I was home again the following Sunday, back at the dinner table before leaving again for my next week as a trainee nurse.

As we start a life without you mom, there will be no more daily calls to hear your voice as you tell me what was missing from the shopping delivery.

No more letters arriving on the mat containing coupons that you have collected for Mr H from your butter packs so we can stay for free at the organic farm which produces it.

No more poring over old photographs and documents with you, trying to piece some part of history together to our satisfaction.

No more giggling together as we ate another cream tea...

But you were the inspiration for me to write the book about your beloved Adult School, my encourager, my assistant researcher and fact finder. Completing that book in the knowledge that I had achieved exactly what you wanted was the best thing I have ever done in my life mom.

Wear bright colours no black, you told all three of us numerous times when we discussed your funeral in advance. So, like a rainbow, the room was full of purples, blues and pinks. You were at the core of the service we put together to celebrate your life mom.

I wrote you a letter which I read to you at the service. But I am sure you heard it every time Mr H had to suffer another practice run. And I know the strength to deliver it with both tears and laughter, came from you.

But I also realise you haven’t really left us mom. My heartbeat is your heartbeat. Every thought I have will be with you in mind. Everything I do will be because of you…

 

Crafty Chocolate

Nowadays I am not allowing the crafty creaminess of chocolate over the threshold of our doorstep. Anyone who rings the bell is searched before entry. 

When Mr H comes home, a rustling shopping bag in hand, I wobble out to the kitchen to catch him before he sneaks any shiny packages behind the tins of baked beans.

I inspect every naughty purchase he has made - all items I refuse to add to the online delivery. He has two packets of extra fruity hot cross buns, two big bags of crisps and 1kg of peanut butter. 

I hate peanut butter so that passes for entry to the larder. I can easily avoid eating hot cross buns. But I groan at the crisps because like chocolate, one nibble and I transform into a salivating, snack hunting, cupboard swarming, demon. Reluctantly I accept their entry into the very top shelf with a warning;

Do not give me one. Not one. Even if I beg! Do not bring a bag into the lounge. If you want some put them in a bowl and eat them before I realise they are gone.

He nods a reassuring promise. 

But Easter is drawing near. I can tip toe (I wish) past shops, do all my online shopping with a full tummy, tell everyone not to buy me anything chocolaty. 

But my naughty mind has a voice of its own;

Go on just one mini egg they are only 1 syn each…

Just a nibble of dairy milk will be fine…

You can buy a pack of mini Twix and ration them…

But my sensible mind knows I can’t. 

So on Monday when my Slimming World consultant, Beautiful, Bubbly, Bonny says she has an idea to help us avoid cracking under the Easter egg pressure I move to the edge of my seat. 

Out from under the table comes a basket full of polystyrene eggs. Take one and pass the basket round Bonny tells us. 

There is a pot of felt tip pens on the table and the plan is that we decorate our egg to look like Bonny giving us the evil eye… 

Sorry that’s not what Bonny actually said. With a Bonny grin she said … 

Use your decorated egg as a reminder to be careful at Easter should you be tempted to reach for chocolate or any other trigger foods. 

So this is my version of Bonny saying NO CHOCOLATE. Bonny now makes me and Mr H smile every time we walk into the kitchen. And interestingly it is working as a deterrent…

Disclaimer: apologies to Bonny for my complete lack of artistic expression…