Happy birthday mum...

8 years after you died. I so often remember our life. I also remember how you looked at the hospital. You looked at peace. Ready to cross over to be with dad.

Today is your birthday, 20 October. I have had so many memories about you as you grew up and got married and started the family. Yes, I have pictures of you as my mum, and later as my children's grandmother. So few photos of you at your own birthday parties, but maybe we should have taken a whole lot more.

Now my photos are only of my memory of you.

Do you remember being a young woman - perhaps still a child? You had to take your brother, Uncle Brian, out of the house whenever your father would start to beat up Gran. Finally she had too much of it and got

you and Uncle Brian away from that relationship. She became a very good dressmaker, and made your special gowns, like the one for your 21st.  In the 60s Gran got married again, to our dear Pop. I know that your oldest daughter - my older sister - has the photo album.

Your photo when you got married to dad looks to be one of your happiest moments.That seems to reflect so many weddings throughout society, and yet they can't reflect how a marriage lasts. Yours did. You loved dad so much that when he died I think you died a lot inside yourself. He built our first home.

I don't know any more how a child can or will accept their parents. I did accept you and dad. I left when I was 18 to move to Wellington but I never gave you up because you were always so special. You were my mum, my masseur, my carer, my listener. You'd taught me how to cook dinners and bake biscuits, clean the house, use the washing machine, dig the garden, empty the ash from the fireplace, feed the cats and walk down the back of our home to visit Gran. You encouraged me to play the recorder and the violin, and bought a piano for all of us. You and dad took us to swimming club. By the time I got married you looked after my first child while I still worked.

You lived in our second home by the time I left Hamilton, and my two children and I moved in with you for a short time when we moved back there. I was divorced. We lived very close to your home, and the kids were very happy to catch up with you. You would always cook - I think that's how my son became convinced that he could do that too. I remember so many recipes you used to do - which we all loved!

Your life with dad never looked like it might fall apart - that is so unfortunate with so many people within society who can't stay with whoever they married, regardless of how much they should really try it. There are probably very few people married and stayed married these years. Those who find the right person should be congratulated. I tried twice but I wasn't picking properly. You only needed to choose once.

When I saw you in the hospital in Hamilton, New Zealand, you looked like you did recognise me. You held out your hand and I held it, stroking your hair, whispering to you. I never wanted to see you die... and I didn't. After you went I just had to sit at a computer and look through your photos and put them into the PC so I now have memories of you when you were very young, up until you died. These days every person has uncountless many photos taken by their mobiles. That never happened to you, so your few photos are very special and, for me, very valuable.

And, in the end, they remind me of you. Every one has a story or a message.

I think of you every single day. You filled more than 50 of my years, and I will remember you for whatever my life gets to. If you ever can still be wherever you went, look down on me and understand how I feel about you...

I love you.