I’m posting something a bit different today …
Please bear with me and let me know what your think ; also let me explain.
I have mentioned this on previous occasions, so I’m sorry if you feel I am going over old ground; but there is not one day since we lost mum that I’ve not thought about her at some point . Sometimes it’s a fleeting memory and it disappears as quickly as it popped into my head. Sometimes my thoughts linger around for hours. Sometimes I remember and I smile , sometimes I’m reduced to tears.
Despite my bright and mostly cheerful exterior I do sometimes struggle to get my head around things. Mainly that I’ve [ hopefully] got half my life left to live… but without my mum around . That is at times hard to stomach. I still can’t imagine never speaking to her again. Even after 18 months it’s not fully sunk in.
I find writing helps; its MY form of therapy. I feel like I’m talking to mum sub-consciously.
Mum was my biggest ‘cheer leader’ I like to imagine her sat floating on her ‘angel cloud’, preening her angel wings, with a large Gin and Tonic in hand while reading my musings. I like to think she’s getting some comfort from them, that she can see we are ok. Missing her terribly … but o.k
While Mum had accepted she was dying, she obviously didn’t want too. Her biggest fear, and greatness sadness was leaving us all behind – her husband , 2 children, my partner and our beloved dog Mollie. I know this because she told me during one of our last conversations [I still can’t recall these without an enormous wave of sadness coming over me. While they are deeply precious, they are also desperately painful ]
So I tried to express myself in poetry … just to see how it went . In for a penny, in for a pound and all that. I’ve recently rekindled my love by way of reading other peoples work and thought why not have a stab myself.
This was written in the hairdressers of all places while I was waiting for my root-colour to take last week. I guess it’s when I stop and relax that I start to think …
She is Christmas Day, fairy tales, magic and make believe …
Endless summer days drinking glasses of cold lemonade perched on dusty back-door steps. Sun-kissed freckled skin, denim cut offs, mucky knees and scuffed shoes.
She’s your first love, first smell, first kiss, first touch. Wearer of the warmest smile and kindest eyes. Your protector , a familiar face amongst a sea of strangers
Mender of broken hearts , hangovers and best friend fall outs. She is that knowing look.
She’s cups of tea with slices of home made lemon-meringue pie. Beans on toast, egg soldiers and Sunday Lunch
Soft … yet oh so strong
Your guiding light, your inspiration … your world.
She is the smile she gave you, the stories that fill your head. You hear her in your laughter and catch glimpses of her in the mirror.
She’s yours ,
as you are hers
She is your safe place
She is your Mum 💗
* * * * * * **
Tracey Herring 28.09.2018
I was really, really nervous when I came to post this last week on Instagram. I figured the worst thing anyone could think was that it was crap and I’d lost the plot… and that’s fair enough maybe I have and maybe it is.
I have been toying with an idea to try and write more ‘poetry’; putting a small book together, maybe even printing some individual poems for framing. All proceeds would go to a charity that researches gynae-cancers
What do you think?
I would really love any feedback, good or bad and you thoughts. I just want to do my bit, to feel that in my own way I am making a small difference…
Love , as always