My mum died six years ago today.

For the first time since she died, I actually feel OK.  And by ‘OK’ I don’t mean it doesn’t hurt, or I haven’t thought about her today, or I haven’t put orange tulips by her gravestone, or I haven’t cried in the bathroom when my boys weren’t looking … I’ve done all of those things … but finally, the fog feels like it’s lifting. 

Six years is a long, LONG time to grieve for someone, but my life is so full of purpose right now that my focus has organically shifted to something more positive.

She’d have loved that.

Everyone used to say we looked alike.  We both wore huge, hideous Deidre Barlow glasses.  She was tall, like me, and when I was my natural hair colour, many aeons ago, we had exactly the same mousey blonde hair.

I inherited my big boobs from her, (cheers Mum!) but she got hers reduced.  She said they hurt her back.  I’ve never been that brave.

She moaned when I massaged her shoulders and I’d refuse to carry on until she was completely silent because it freaked me out so much.  My sons now say the same to me when they massage my shoulders.  It makes me laugh.

I have her Sid James laugh.

There are a lot of things that we had in common but as I get older I realise that I’m more my own person than I once thought.  I no longer feel like I’m ‘just’ Jackie’s daughter.   I don’t know if we’d have had as much in common were she still alive today but we’d have still been close, no matter what direction my life had taken me in.

At approximately 6.30pm, six years ago, my Dad called from the hospital and said the two words that changed my life.

“She’s gone,” he said.

“Gone where?” I asked, expecting her to have just moved from one ward to another in the hospital.

“No Kate.  She’s gone.”

And that was that.

It’s hard to describe that ache to anyone lucky enough not to have gone through it themselves, without coming across as self pitying or worse, pathetic.  So I rarely talk about her.

But now I have WitWitWoo and I can say what I bloody well like so if you’ve made it to the end of this post, thanks for listening.

Today was a hard day but I’m actually OK.

Today, my son kissed it better.

This photo makes me giggle so much!

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Published by Kate Sutton

Writer, Mother, Dater.

6 replies on “My Son Kissed It Better”

  1. What a lovely post and a lovely tribute to your mum, it actually made me tear up a little bit. I am not going to say anything as I have no idea how you feel and I have absolutely no idea how I would cope in your situation but you are obviously a very brave lady. Loads of love to you today. xx

  2. Aw, Kate. I’m so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing this, it cannot have been easy for you. She would be proud of you and I’m sure, would’ve loved this tribute. xoxo

  3. What a lovely post, it sounds like you carry a big piece of your mum around with you all the time – you!

    I love the photo of you and your son and the one of your mum is fab, really made me smile.

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