Happy birthday…
Today’s my mum’s birthday. She would be an incredible 72 years old, had not cancer ended her life when she was three years younger than I am now…
I know, I know, it’s a morbid thought and pointless, too. But I can’t help thinking of it, not only on our respective birthdays, but quite often throughout the year, even after 24 years – she died just a month after my son was born (and sadly never got to see him in person).
And of course I miss her… I wish I could talk to her when I’m particularly happy, and ask advice when I’m particularly down – as I am now. She wasn’t the kind of mum who would mollycoddle you and cook your favourite meals when you visit. But she was a good, no-nonsense friend who would say exactly what she thought (I’ve got that trait from her, I suppose), with whom you could go out for a drink or two and talk things over. And that’s what I’d really need today… right now…
Happy birthday Mutti!
in March 1982
