After twentyone years of marriage, one evening my wife Claire tells me, You have to ask another woman out for dinner and a film. I am taken aback. She smiles and adds quietly, I love you, but I know theres another woman who loves you too and has been waiting a long time for a little bit of your time. That woman is my mother, Agnes. She has lived alone for nineteen years since my father died. Work and caring for our three children drain so much of my energy that I hardly see her.
That night I pick up the phone and say, Mum, lets go out for dinner and a film tomorrow. Just the two of us.
Is everything all right, love? she asks, a note of worry in her voice.
Mum always assumes sudden calls bring bad news.
Its fine, Mum. I just want to spend an evening with you.
She pauses for a moment, then replies gently, Id love that.
On Friday after work I drive to her flat. She is already waiting, dressed up, smiling, in the same dress she wore on our wedding anniversary years ago. I told my friends Im going on a date with my son, she laughs, and theyre all waiting to hear how it went.
We walk to a small, cosy restaurant in Birmingham. She takes my arm as tenderly as she did when I was a child. When the menu arrives, I read it aloud because the print is tiny for her.
Once I used to read the menu to you, she says with a smile.
Now its my turn, Mum, I reply.
We talk for a long whileabout life, memories, everything that has piled up between us over the years. We miss the film, but we dont regret it.
When I drive her home, she says, Id like to do this again, but next time Ill be the one to invite. I grin and agree.
A few days later, Agnes suddenly dies of a heart attack. I never get the chance to say goodbye.
Later I receive an envelope containing a copy of the restaurant bill and a note:
I paid in advance. I wasnt sure I could be there, but I wanted to cover a dinner for twofor you and your wife. Youll never know how much that evening meant to me. Love you, son.
In that moment I understand: never put off saying I love you. Give time to those who matter to you, because family isnt a later thing. Family is now.
