My life has been dominated by 2 events - the birth of my daughter, and the death, 3 years earlier, of my mother.
My mother is / was the most dominant figure in my life. I miss her every day, in every way, and it's funny how you find you had more in common as you grow older and go through the ages you remember your mother being.
Growing up as an only child, I thought we were too close, she was always there, always inserting herself into the pages of my life, and whilst I occasionally resented it at the time, now I take it as it was meant to be - I got a double dose of her for 30 years, because of the years I would have to face without her. So here is my tribute to the 2nd soulmate of my life.
Thumb - Phantom of The Opera. My mum's favourite musical and CD, we loved this. We saw it probably 3 times together, and the last time was a treat I laid on for her 4 months before she died. It's a very special memory of a special visit.
Index - Bertie. An asthmatic, my mum wasn't really able to have pets, but Bertie adopted us when we weren't expecting it. The king of the neighbourhood, tough as old boots, and *very* reluctant to be picked up, he was the start of her gooey animal period and her wish to open a cattery if she ever won the lottery. Harry was the true cat love of her life, but Bertie had more character.
Middle nail - love - you saw this one yesterday, and I wanted to recycle it to show the circle of love.
Ring finger - a panda! And it's not bad either lol. Panda was my mother's nickname for me. Not because of my eye make-up, but because I "liked to be pandered to" lol. So I called her Chi Chi (after a famous panda somewhere). It became our in-joke, and every birthday or Christmas had to feature one somewhere.
Pinkie - safety net. My mother was my safety net, pure and simple. She tried (too hard) to protect me, but she always caught me when I fell, and looked after me when I was ill in my twenties. I often wonder whether my life would be the chaos it is today if she had lived.
So, I love you mum. Even though she's not physically here, I talk to her. Even though I can't look at recent photos of her, I feel her. Next month, it will be 14 years since she left, and whilst sometimes I think it has gotten easier, nothing ever fills a mum-shaped hole.