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…