My Mum and Dad
My mum was always beautiful. I say was because she passed away six months ago, following my dad by just a fortnight. Even though they were both well into their eighties, I cant help but feel they didnt have nearly enough time together. They were, after all, my mum and dad.
So, my mum such a beauty. I could see it for myself; after all, Im her son, but I am also a man. My dad never tired of reminding me, all through my life. Even when Mum was cross with me over poor marks at school or something else Id done wrong, Dad would come into my room, give a heavy sigh, sit beside me, plant his hands between his knees just like me, and sigh again. Hed be silent for ages. Then, hed bring our wordless ritual to a close:
All right, son, dont be upset with your mum. Yes, she snapped at you, had a go, but, truth be told, were hardly angels ourselves. Shes our girl. We both need her more than air. Why not go and ask her to forgive you?
And me? Id fill my lungs, ready to protest, and glare over at Dad, fire in my eyes. But hed always see it coming, stretch out his hand with his palm towards me as if to clamp my mouth shut, and say, quietly but firmly:
Dont you ever say a bad word about my wife!
And Id deflate, never daring. I loved my dad so much. And my mum, toovery much indeed.
Thats because I knew their story, how they became husband and wife. Dad told me, secret from Mum. And Mum? She told me too, but, of course, just between usnever letting Dad know.
Mum was at university, a fresh-faced first year. She was set to marry some chap called Eddie. One evening, Eddie came to meet her and brought along his mate, Barry, whod just moved to London and didnt fancy spending the evening on his own. So Eddie invited him alongyes, to his date, with the girl he was about to propose to.
Eddie introduced Barry to my soon-to-be-mum. As youve probably figured, Barry is my soon-to-be-dad.
The three of them spent the whole evening together. They wandered around Hyde Park, watched a hilariously funny film at an open-air cinema, sneaking onto the roof of the pavilion to avoid paying for tickets. That rooftop schemeDads idea, of course. Eddie would never have thought of it in his life. And it was Dad who helped Mum up to the roof because, even back then, he was strong and broad, unlike poor EddieI never met him, but I just know he was a bit of a beanpole, nothing like my dad.
Eddie entertained everyone, made jokes, recited poetry, and talked about their future after uni. Dad stayed quiet the whole time, just listening quietly, as Mum always says. When it came time to say goodbye, Dad held Mums little hand, warm in his big ones, and said:
Victoria! Hes not the one for you. Marry me instead.
Mum was completely taken aback and blurted out:
When?
Dad, composed as ever, replied instantly:
Tomorrow.
To seal the deal (and, no doubt, to put poor Eddie out of his misery), he added,
Well have a son together. Well love him to piecesso much, in fact, well end up loving each other even more. And well name him Henry. Like the old English kings.
All right, Mum agreed on the spot, and, sure enough, she and Dad got married. Eddie was Barrys best man at the wedding.
Afterwards, Mum and Dad finished uni and went off to the Lake District together since both of their diplomas read geologist-surveyor. There, amongst the fells, they received their very first flattechnically a storeroom behind the local village hall, which the mine foreman had ordered be cleared out for his prized new staff.
In due course, I arrivedHenry. They loved me every bit as much as Dad promised Mum they would.
Dad borrowed an old mare named Alexandra from a nearby stable to bring Mum and me home from the hospital. As the three of us came near our storeroom, as Dad called it, we spotted Eddie standing at the door holding a shiny new baby bath, which hed managed to get through some mysterious connection. That bath was both my tub and, for a while (so Mum said), my crib. Mum would nestle a great big feather pillow insideher wedding gift from her mothercover it with a sheet, and lay me there. For bathtimes, the pillow went on Mum and Dads bed. Dad would race home from work for the big eventyou might guess the red horse? No, their sonso he wouldnt miss a thing. Dad held my head up (Mum told me), and shed get on with washing her precious prince.
Well, prince or not, I never quite achieved that, but I did become a half-decent geologist, following in their footsteps.
The funny thingmy wife is also a geologist. We met at work after university. My mum immediately adored Jane, as did Dad. Whenever they visited us or we went to theirs, Dad and I would step out onto the balcony to smoke, and hed tell me,
Hmm You know, I think I was lucky twice in my life: first, meeting your mum, and then, seeing you marry Jane. Look after her, son. Shes a girl, just like our mum
Dad passed away suddenly, in his sleep. Mum knew right away and woke up
After he died, she aged rapidly, forgot a lot. She forgot, for instance, that Dad was gone. Even after we brought her home with us, shed sit by the window, waiting for Dad to come home from work. Right up to her last day, she still made her lovely homemade meatballs, just the way Barry likes themSome evenings, as the sun dipped and gold spilled across our living room, Jane would sit beside Mum, gently holding her hand, listening to her stories of mountains climbed and wildflowers pressed between textbooks. Sometimes Mum would turn to me and say, Henry, your father will be late tonightbusy at the site, I suppose. But hell bring wild strawberries for us, just you wait. And Id nod, my chest tight, knowing she was wandering across memories where love was always present, always new.
On her final day, she sang softly as she drifted in and out of sleepa tune my father used to hum. I knelt beside her and took her frail hand in mine. Her fingers squeezed, just a little, and her lips murmured, Tell your father Ill see him soon. Tell himtell him I still have that feather pillow.
Jane wept quietly, her tears soaking into Mums shoulder as I kissed her forehead. With the gentle peace of sunset illuminating her face, Mum slipped away, the corners of her mouth curled in a smile I recognized from a thousand childhood mornings.
After the funeral, with our daughter perched between us, Jane and I walked the lakeside path Mum and Dad loved. The air was alive with birdsong and the scent of earth after rain. Our little girl asked about her grandparentshow they met, why they laughed so much together. I told her about rooftop escapades, hidden bathtubs, strawberry promisesstories as old as love itself.
That night, as our daughter drifted to sleep in the old feather pillow, I sat with Jane on the balcony. The stars winked softly above. Well watch over her, Jane whispered, just like they watched over you.
I found myself smiling, the ache in my heart softening into something gentlera memory, shimmering and warm, held safely between the past and whats still to come. In that moment, I felt my parents nearlove as sturdy as the earth below, as endless as the sky aboveforever holding us, always leading us home.
